No Rest for the Wicked
by Cognitivism
Summary: AU. Santana has a very unconventional and dangerous job. During one of her missions, she meets an overly cheerful waitress and finds herself exasperatingly distracted.
1. Prologue  Part 1

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Glee or the world in which this story is based (which is Supernatural).

**Author's Note(s): **This is the beginning of a story I have currently in the works. It's nowhere near finished yet, but I thought I'd post the prologue first (because it works as a standalone fic) and well…to gauge interest I guess. It is very, very AU.

In other thoughts: **It's on**. It was always on. That is all.

**No Rest for the Wicked  
**_Prologue - Part 1_

When Santana rolls into town, it's late. Later than she was hoping it would be. She grinds her teeth in frustration and slams her hands down on the steering wheel. _Absolutely fucking perfect_, she thinks bitterly. She pulls over on what she predicts to be a quiet road. This is far from the first time she's slept in her car, and she's certain it won't be the last. It doesn't stop her from being positively furious at the prospect, however. It's been days since she's slept in a proper bed.

She gets out of her car and walks around it to lean on the bonnet. There's something hanging in the air; a sort of tension that Santana recognises instantly but has never found the words to describe. She loves it. It comes hand in hand with the feelings present at the beginning of a new hunt. A new challenge that Santana knows she is more than up to the task for.

Her breath is visible in front of her and Santana takes far more enjoyment from the cold night air than she usually would. She's been cooped up in that piece of crap car for far too long. If she didn't know better, she'd think she had cabin fever. Santana has seen real cabin fever and what it can do though, and until she's literally ripped out the throat of over half a dozen innocent bystanders, she confident she's just feeling a little antsy.

Not that Santana feeling a little antsy is something that should be taken lightly.

She inhales deeply before propelling herself forward; no point in wasting valuable time when she could be scoping out the place. She's such a seasoned non-sleeper by now that Santana only needs four or five hours to feel fully rested and prepared for the day ahead. Okay, so perhaps she isn't at the top of her game after three full days of traipsing around in the wilderness, searching for a werewolf or whatever beastie she happens to be hunting at the time, but she's certainly capable. Santana is badass like that.

It's time to show this sleepy town who's boss.

* * *

By the time morning comes around, Santana is rested and ready for the day ahead. Or at least she will be once she's got her goddamn coffee.

She's sitting in some crappy diner that looks like it hasn't been cleaned in about two months. The tabletops are relatively unsoiled, but the walls seem greasy and the whole room smells of fries. None of this bothers Santana; she's eaten in worse places. Got food poisoning from a couple of them too, but that's beside the point. Hustling random guys at bars and identity theft only gets her so far; she can't exactly afford to go to a classier establishment. Not that this shit-hole town appears to have a better offer.

There's only two other people in the room at the moment; an old couple who look like they should be sat in God's waiting room rather than at some questionable diner in the middle of nowhere. As of yet, a waitress or any kind of employee has yet to make an appearance.

The sound of someone being given a stern telling off to in the kitchen, however, is quite obvious over the awkward silence. Santana begins to tap her foot impatiently. Getting a cup of coffee should _not_ be this difficult.

In what feels like an age, but is in reality two short minutes, a rather harried blonde woman scurries through the kitchen door and makes a beeline for Santana.

Santana's 'about fucking time' dies on her lips as she makes eye contact with the waitress.

"Sorry for the wait," she says, a wide smile crossing her face.

"Erm…that's okay," replies Santana, unsure why her mouth suddenly feels uncomfortably dry.

If possible, the blonde's smile widens even further and she withdraws a small notepad and pen from her pocket.

"I'm Brittany," she says brightly. "I'll be your server this morning." Santana makes an odd humming sound. "What can I get for you?"

"Um…" says Santana. "Coffee."

"Just coffee?" asks Brittany with a curious sweep over Santana's figure.

"Just coffee," Santana confirms, feeling strangely self conscious for the first time in…possibly ever.

"I'll be right back," says Brittany, spinning gracefully on her heel and sweeping out of sight.

Santana takes a deep breath and mentally chastises herself. Okay, she's going to be cool now. She's Santana Lopez for Gods sake; the Lopez's don't let themselves be distracted by pretty blondes in short skirts.

No, she's going to focus on the task at hand.

"Here you go," says a voice, and Santana almost jumps.

"Thanks," Santana forces out, pulling the mug towards her with a reverence that borderlines on indecent.

After that, Santana expects Brittany to leave so she can go back to her ponderings on her planned daily activities. Bizarrely, this isn't the case. Instead, Brittany sits herself down on the chair opposite Santana's and regards her through clear blue eyes.

"You look very official," says Brittany after a moment.

Santana looks down at her fitted red shirt and expensive black trousers. It's not what she'd usually wear, but as she's pretending to be on official police business she'd thought she had better look the part. She found out the hard way once that if you don't look the way people expect, they pay a lot more attention to your alleged credentials. The last thing Santana wants is to be tailed by the CIA again. That had been a disaster, and Santana does not use that word lightly.

"Special Agent Vicky Lynn," Santana lies smoothly. "FBI."

Brittany's eyes widen comically and she tilts her head to one side. "You don't look much like a Vicky."

"Sorry about that," replies Santana, shrugging her shoulders and taking a tentative sip of her coffee. Mm, not great. Not too bad though.

"Oh no," Brittany quickly reassures her. "It's a nice name. It's just…a bit ordinary." Santana raises an eyebrow. "You don't seem very ordinary."

_You have no idea_, Santana thinks.

"Are you here about the deaths?" asks Brittany curiously. Santana is pretty sure she should be waiting on tables or something right now.

"I am," she replies heavily.

"Everyone says they're suicides. Or accidents," says Brittany in a way that makes Santana think that she doesn't believe her own words. "Why are the FBI interested?"

Usually, Santana would dismiss the line of questioning and send the person away with a substantial glare and a few harsh words. She somehow finds herself unwilling to do so now. Maybe this Brittany character will be useful to her in some way. Deep down, Santana seriously doubts this, but it's what she tells herself anyway to excuse her sudden verbal diarrhoea.

"It isn't every day that three women mysteriously drown," replies Santana. "I'm just here to make sure."

Brittany nods furiously, but she looks worried about something.

"Did you know any of the victims?" asks Santana, assuming that this is the reason for the woman's discomfort.

Brittany shrugs. "It's a small town. Everybody kind of knows everybody. Jessica Finkle was my teacher in high school, Harriet Burns worked at the place I buy my groceries from and Melissa Talbot was one of the few local hairdressers."

"Don't seem to have much in common job-wise then," mutters Santana, mainly to herself.

For a moment, Brittany looks like she's about to agree, but a shadow flickers in her eyes and she keeps her mouth pressed in a thin line. Santana actually misses the cheerful smile.

"There's something else?" she asks.

"They were all blonde," says Brittany after a moment. "And they all had blue eyes."

Santana blinks a couple of times and takes another sip of her coffee. That, she had not known. The black and white photographs in the newspapers she's gathered haven't really been helpful in terms of the victims' appearance. She resolves to try the internet next to see if there are any other physical similarities.

"I have blonde hair and blue eyes," Brittany then points out, just to be sure that Santana is aware.

"I see that," says Santana in agreement.

A fearful look crosses Brittany's face, but it's gone so quickly that Santana isn't even sure it was there in the first place. "I read online that serial killers always pick people that look the same," she says in a whisper. It's ridiculous because the old couple had left five minutes ago and there's nobody else in the room to hear them.

Smarter than she first seemed, Santana thinks to herself as she carefully considers the woman in front of her. If the demon or ghost or poltergeist or whatever it is, is going after women of a certain physical type, Brittany would definitely be near the top of the list. Oh well. Santana will just have to work extra fast this time to make sure Brittany makes it out alive. Although, when she thinks about it, Santana isn't quite sure why she cares so much. She usually doesn't. Casualties of war are an unfortunate but unavoidable part of her job. Supernatural beings have never been particularly responsive to Santana's desire for people not to die.

"Don't worry," says Santana finally. "If it's a serial killer, maybe they'll be put off because the FBI are in town."

The bright smile is back and Santana literally can't stop herself from returning it. She quickly schools her features into the stern look she's appropriated for herself, but Brittany doesn't seem to be too bothered by it.

"That's good," she says happily. "I know you'll keep me safe."

Santana is astonished by the woman's blind faith in her. In anyone else, she'd have thought it was natural stupidity, but in Brittany it's oddly endearing.

"I'll try," Santana replies, her voice guarded.

"Awesome," says Brittany, unfazed by Santana's obvious uncertainty.

She leans over the table and tops up Santana's coffee. The way Santana's breath catches as Brittany draws near to her is completely coincidental, she decides.

"Thanks," Santana mumbles. Then she clears her throat and shifts uncomfortably.

Brittany chuckles a little. "You're cute," she says, much to Santana's bewilderment.

Nobody has ever called Santana _cute_ before. Nobody in their right mind would dare.

Santana makes quick work of her coffee and gets the hell out of there.

* * *

She finds the police station easily. Well, she calls it a police station; it's closer to a small bungalow with a single man holding down the fort. At the moment, his feet are propped up on his virtually empty desk and a ridiculous looking Stetson is pulled down low over his eyes. Before he even begins to speak, Santana knows he's going to be of little use.

She clears her throat loudly and the man jumps and almost falls out of his chair. He grabs his hat and places it gently down on the desk and looks Santana up and down.

"Hi, there, ma'am," he says awkwardly. "Is there something I can do for you?"

_Probably not_, thinks Santana. She pulls out her fake FBI badge and flashes it in front of him.

"Special Agent Vicky Lynn," she says in her most officious voice.

"Sheriff Michael Thomas," says the man, rising to his feet and holding his hand out for Santana to shake. She reluctantly does so and resists the urge to then wipe her hand on her trousers. "Are you here about the deaths?" the sheriff then asks.

Santana nods and takes out a notebook from her jacket pocket. She doesn't need it; her memory is excellent, but she finds that it supports the illusion.

"Why are the FBI interested in my little backwater town?" asks Thomas as she flicks through the pages of her book. "A few suicides don't seem like something the Feds would care about."

Santana gazes at him sternly and he visibly falters. It's honestly a wonder this guy ever achieved a position of power in life.

"I'd like a copy of the police report and the coroners report," says Santana in a voice that books no argument.

The sheriff nods and sits back down so he can rifle through the drawer in his desk. Santana purses her lips in annoyance; this place doesn't even have an extra chair that she can sit on.

"Here you are, Agent," he says as he triumphantly pulls out two dog-eared paper files and hands it over to her.

Santana flicks through it to make sure everything is present and correct, before fixing her unwavering stare back on Thomas. His smile dims a little but otherwise he seems to have recovered from his shock at her presence.

"What can you tell me about the victims?" asks Santana.

The sheriff shrugs disinterestedly; he seems less concerned about the unexplained deaths in his town than these small time cops usually do. As a general rule in a town this small, the law enforcement take this kind of thing remarkably personally. It's both annoying and amusing in equal measure.

"Jessica Finkle was found drowned in her bathtub a couple of weeks ago," he begins. Santana nods. "Must have fallen asleep," he says.

"That's likely," says Santana. The sheriff nods and completely misses the sarcasm in her voice.

"A week after that Harriet Burns was found drowned in a sink," says Thomas. Santana frowns.

"A sink?" she says. "Isn't that a little unusual?"

"She probably hit her head," replies Thomas in an offhand voice.

Santana opens the coroners report and scans down it quickly. There's no indication of a head wound, but nor is there any sign of finger marks or anything that would suggest foul play. Oh yeah, this is definitely her kind of case.

"I see," she says dubiously. "And how about Melissa Talbot? Drowned a glass of water? That's not exactly what one would call usual, is it?"

This time, the sheriff does notice her tone and frowns with confusion. His display of incompetence makes Santana's fist twitch angrily.

"No," he concedes. "But what else could it be if not an accident?"

Santana snaps the file closed and the sheriff's frown deepens.

"That's what I'm here to find out," says Santana. He gazes at her doubtfully but says nothing as she tucks the files under her arm. "Thank you for your time, Sheriff Thomas."

* * *

The next step in any successful hunt is to find out what connects all the victims. In this case, Santana already has a pretty good idea about what that connection may be, but she is nothing if not thorough. Her perusal of the police file, which is a generous way of describing the random bits of paper loosely held together, has given her the addresses of the victims' family, and thus Santana has spent most of her morning questioning devastated husbands and parents. It's bringing her down, quite frankly.

"I just don't know why she'd kill herself," the old woman sobs through ill-fitting false teeth. She blows her nose disgustingly and Santana grimaces. "She was always so happy and full of life!"

Santana nods sympathetically. "Okay, I think that will be all."

The woman sniffs and nods. Santana rises to her feet and quickly adverts her gaze as the woman also stands and looks like she's about to hug her. As it happens, Santana is well _well_ versed in the art of escaping and she's out of that door inhumanly quickly.

Santana isn't good with crying people. On the rare occasion she's attempted to comfort someone, they just seem to cry more. Her father had told her more than once that she wasn't a 'people person'. Admittedly, Santana hadn't really understood what being a 'people person' really entailed. She was a person and she spoke to people. What else was there to it? When she'd explained this to Papa Lopez, he'd smiled wryly at her and patted her on the head. It isn't one of her favourite childhood memories.

The streets are fairly busy by the time Santana has finished talking to the victims' families. It's a bit of a relief; it had been scarily quiet earlier, and Santana has endured more than one bad experience with supposedly empty towns.

It's now time for the bit of the job that Santana really hates. _Research_.

She sighs and smoothes down her shirt before turning in the direction of where she's been told the library is. Ugh. The _library_.

Ever since that time in school, she can't remember which school it was, that she'd been forced into isolation for two weeks for beating up that kid for telling her she looked homeless, she's not been the biggest fan of empty libraries and their dusty shelves. They make the back of her throat itch.

Sadly, it doesn't take her long to find. It's the relatively small building next to the town hall that looks like it's about to fall down. Always a good sign, Santana thinks sardonically.

* * *

Santana groans and allows her head to drop to the desk. She bangs her forehead gently on the old wood. Research is far too time consuming. This freaky town doesn't have fucking wireless; how the hell is Santana supposed to work in these conditions? The library computers look like they haven't been updated in about twenty years and it took Santana about thirty minutes just to switch the piece of junk on.

Old newspapers are scattered on the table in front of her with no obvious semblance of order. She'd given up trying to keep stuff in the right place over an hour ago. She doesn't much care about keeping this crap-hole library in pristine condition; the people that work there don't seem to care so why should she? Besides, by the time she's done in this town, they're going to fucking owe her, so cleaning up after her is the least they can do.

"Hi!" says a cheerful voice behind her. Santana stiffens and raises her head. No way did someone just sneak up on her without her realising. Her dad would kill her if he'd been there. Or something else would kill her. Santana is supposed to be on high alert at all times.

"Hi," replies Santana, peering up at the blonde wearily. "Are you like a ninja or something?"

"Huh?" says Brittany, her brow furrowing in confusion. She looks painfully cute and Santana resolves to berate herself later for thinking so.

"Never mind," says Santana dismissively.

"Okay," says Brittany brightly. She takes a seat next to Santana and curiously regards the mess of papers in front of her. "How's the investigation going?"

The old newspapers stare at her mockingly and Santana forces a smile. "It's going well."

"That's good," said Brittany in a hushed voice. "I saw Jessica's husband before and he looked upset."

Santana nods but elects not to comment on this. She's well aware of how upset he is and may or may not have been the cause of something of an emotion breakdown. "What are you doing here?" she instead asks.

To her surprise, a light blush appears on Brittany's face. "Nothing," she says evasively.

"Did you follow me here?" says Santana, folding her arms.

An apologetic smile crosses Brittany's face and she nods once. "Well…not exactly. I saw you come in here before and thought I'd come and see how you were doing while I'm on my break."

"Oh," says Santana, not quite sure what to make of this. "Well that's…normal."

Brittany nods absently and picks up one of the newspapers that Santana has set aside because it was actually vaguely useful. Santana resists the urge to snatch it away as Brittany scans down the page with an increasingly confused expression on her face.

"What are you doing here?" asks Brittany, looking up at Santana over the paper.

"Just doing a bit of research on the town," Santana only partially lies.

"Holly Brookes found drowned in her home…" Brittany reads aloud. She stops and gazes at Santana in wonderment. "This was fifteen years ago. I kinda remember it."

Santana made a small noise of question. "What a coincidence."

Brittany looks at her blankly and for some reason Santana can't tear her eyes away.

"What did you say your name was again?" asks Brittany. Her voice is tinged with suspicion and Santana feels an odd prickling sensation on the back of her neck. Who the hell is this girl?

"Vicky Lynn," Santana lies immediately. She tries not to feel offended that Brittany hadn't remembered it.

For a moment, Brittany says nothing and Santana considers nudging her to bring her back to reality.

"It's weird," says Brittany thoughtfully. "She wasn't the only one who drowned then."

"Oh?" Santana prompts.

"Yeah," she says slowly. "My mom's friend died too."

Santana sits back in her chair and considers the beautiful blonde before her. Wait, did she just think beautiful? The average looking blonde before her; not that she's really noticed, because she's on a job.

"What happened?" asks Santana.

A strange look crosses Brittany's face; it's a look that Santana associates with someone who has something to hide. It's difficult to imagine that the sweet waitress has some kind of deep, dark secret that pertains to the hunt, but Santana had learnt at a very early age that appearances can be deceptive. Santana herself is a prime example.

"She drowned," says Brittany simply.

"There's something else," Santana says encouragingly.

Brittany hesitates and glances around the room to make sure nobody is listening. It's not really necessary; nobody but Santana has come into the library for the entire time she's been in there. The librarian disappeared shortly after Santana had entered.

"You're not going to believe me," says Brittany finally. She looks sadly down at her hands. "Nobody else did."

"Tell me anyway," Santana suggests. She has a feeling that whatever Brittany is about to say is going to be a great deal more use to her than anything she's read in the library so far.

A doubtful look remains on Brittany's face but she shuffles closer to Santana. It suddenly becomes very difficult for Santana to focus on the words being spoken to her.

"Don't laugh," says Brittany sadly.

"I won't," Santana promises, swallowing back her nervousness at the close proximity.

"My mom was there when she died," says Brittany; her voice is quiet, and not just because they're in a library. "She said that before it happened, she saw something."

Oh yes, this is definitely what Santana wants to hear. She suppresses a smirk and gestures for Brittany to continue.

"She said," says Brittany, her voice dropping even lower, "That it was a woman."

"That doesn't seem too unusual," Santana remarks.

"It was a ghost," Brittany whispers; then she cringes as though she's waiting for Santana to laugh. She doesn't.

"I see," says Santana carefully. "Did she say what the ghost looked like?"

Brittany's head shoots up and Santana almost recoils against the pure joy in her eyes. "You believe me?" she asks, her mouth spreading into a wide smile.

Stunned, Santana nods mutely. Brittany's smile grows even wider and she lunges forward and pulls Santana in a tight hug. A surprised gasp escapes Santana's lips and she instinctively braces herself; it's been a long time since she's had such close physical contact with someone that wasn't trying to kill her. When Brittany pulls away, she doesn't seem to mind Santana's unresponsiveness.

"She was middle-aged," Brittany says as though there had been no interlude in the conversation. "She had dark hair and she was tall. But that wasn't what was so weird," Brittany continues; she stares at Santana beseechingly so she nods. "My mom said that she was wet."

"She was wet," Santana repeats faintly. Brittany nods furiously.

"There was like…water dripping from her hair and stuff," says Brittany. "And mom said she was super pale."

"I see," says Santana. "Did she say anything?"

Brittany shakes her head. "I don't think so."

Santana makes a thoughtful noise and looks unwillingly at the mess she's made on the table. "Do you think I could talk to your mom?"

Brittany's face falls and Santana knows exactly what she's going to say before the words leave her mouth. "My mom's dead," says Brittany softly.

"I'm sorry," says Santana guiltily.

"It was a few years ago now," says Brittany with a shaky breath. "I'm okay."

Santana nods but isn't sure how to respond.

"Most people don't really believe that my mom saw a ghost," says Brittany eventually. She shoots Santana a fond smile.

"I'm not most people," says Santana with a wry smile.

Brittany looks at her thoughtfully. "No, I don't think you are."

An uncomfortable feeling settles in the pit of Santana's stomach; it feels like Brittany's eyes are looking directly into her soul. She clears her throat nervously and looks away.

"Anyway," says Brittany after an awkward silence, "I should probably get back to work." Santana hums in agreement. "It was nice talking to you, Agent Lynn," says Brittany. The name sounds odd on her lips and Santana has an overwhelming urge to correct her.

"Yeah," she says instead. "Thanks for the help."

Brittany gives her a bemused look before standing up and leaving the library. It's not until a few minutes later that Santana realises that if she had been a real FBI agent, what Brittany had told her would have been of no help at all.

* * *

By the time Santana finds the article she's looking for, she's absolutely starving. She's sat back at the library's computer, which has crashed no fewer than four times, and tapping her fingers in a steady, staccato rhythm against the side of the dirty white keyboard. The feeling of accomplishment that usually follows this kind of discovery is somewhat lessened by the way her stomach is making uncomfortable growling noises. She hadn't realised it was so late.

Thankfully, it seems like a pretty open and shut case. She's seen hundreds of hauntings like this one. Catherine Swanson, thirty-nine, found dead in her bathtub, twenty-first of January, year nineteen-eighty. No suspected foul play, but there's an interesting photograph of her husband being consoled by a young woman who bears a striking similarity to all of the victims. Blonde hair, blue eyes, attractive. It doesn't take a genius to figure out what actually happened. A small article dated a few months later announces that the grieving Mr. Swanson has found happiness again and has become engaged to a lovely young local woman. Yeah, 'cause _that's_ not suspicious at all, Santana thinks disparagingly.

She closes down the computer and pushes herself up; stretching like a cat as she does so. Her joints are stiff from sitting down for so long and she groans a little as her spine protests against the movement.

A glance at her watch tells her that it's far too early to put the next part of her plan into action, so instead she resolves to go and get something to eat and then try to catch a couple of hours sleep in the seedy motel she's booked for the night.

What she needs to do next is not something that should be done at a time when there are still people around. Not if she doesn't want to be thrown in a mental institution or maximum security prison at least.

She stretches again, this time feeling her muscles loosen a little, and begins her way back to the diner. And if Brittany happens to be there, that's just a sacrifice Santana will have to make. She'll most likely be gone by morning, so she decides that there's no harm in indulging a little. It's not often Santana speaks to somebody who she genuinely likes. Well, _likes_ may be a strong word; doesn't want to punch in the face, is probably more accurate. As she was contemplating earlier, Santana is not a people person.

As a general rule, people tend not to be a Santana person either.

It's a mutual dislike. Mostly.

As she strolls through the dark town, the cold air bites at her skin and she pulls her jacket closer to her body. She's just come from hunting a werewolf in the bizarre location of Orlando, so going from the heat to this chill in such a short space of time is a bit of a shock to her system. Rapid changes in temperatures that comes from spending her whole life in a car is one of the few things that Santana has failed to adjust to. She makes a mental note to fish out something warmer for later tonight; she isn't hunting down ghosts in pitch black graveyards in her suit and unnecessarily high heels.

She rounds a corner and lets out a sigh of relief as the bright lights and noisy bustle of the diner comes into view. It seems a lot busier than it had in the morning.

The bell above the door jangles as she pushes it open and meanders into the room. A few of the customers stop their conversations to look at her curiously, but they quickly lose interest and go back to their meals.

From the corner of the room, Brittany spots her and waves. Santana raises a hand in greeting and then makes her way over to one of the small booths in the corner. Her father always taught her to sit with her back to the wall; it's harder to be caught off guard when you have a full view of the room and all of its occupants.

It doesn't take long for Brittany to finish handing out plates to the table she's currently serving, and she immediately heads in Santana's direction. Her heart clenches a little and Santana almost laughs at how ridiculous she's being over this. A _girl_, for fucks sake.

"Fancy seeing you again," says Brittany cheerfully. "Are you stalking me or something?"

Santana lets out a short laugh. "You wish."

There's a sudden twinkle in Brittany's eyes and Santana feels heat rise to her cheeks. _Pull it together, Lopez_! Brittany laughs and poises her pen above her little notepad.

"What can I get for you this fine evening, Agent?" she asks playfully.

"What do you recommend?" replies Santana, having not actually looked at the menu.

For a moment, Brittany looks rather hesitant, as though in reality she'd recommend that Santana not eat anything at all. "The veggie burger is safe," she says finally.

Santana grimaces. "Well…that inspires confidence. I guess I'll have that then."

Brittany jots something down and smiles at her. "Do you want coffee or something else?"

"Coffee will be fine," replies Santana.

Brittany nods and then disappears into the kitchen.

The rest of Santana's evening is spent surreptitiously watching Brittany's every move. She learns that yes, Brittany really is that chipper with everyone she speaks to. She's reluctant to admit that it disappoints her a little, but then she chastises herself. Why would Brittany be so nice so some random stranger if she wasn't like that with everybody?

She also learns that the diner has quite a sea of regulars. More than half of the people who have entered since Santana sat down were brought their food before they'd even ordered. The idea of such monotony sets Santana's teeth on edge; she's never been very good at staying in one place for too long.

Brittany seems happy though so Santana guesses it can't be too bad if you get used to it.

Except that it probably is.

In between waiting on the occupied tables along with another woman who Santana doesn't care enough about to learn the name of, Brittany wanders over to her and engages her in mindless chitchat. She has a strange way of making inane conversation about what Santana's favourite colour is (red; Brittany's is blue) and what her favourite fizzy drink is (Sprite; Brittany's is Cherry Coke) not mind numbingly dull. It's quite a skill, Santana thinks. Or maybe it's to do with the fact that she's able to stare between Brittany's crystal clear eyes and lips for the entire conversation. Santana isn't sure either way, but is positive that she doesn't care.

When it's time to leave, Santana actually feels a twinge of sadness. She hasn't enjoyed talking to somebody so much in a very long time. In fact, she's pretty sure that nobody has ever been so friendly to her before. Most are scared away by her prickly nature and if they aren't, they certainly are when they find out what Santana does by way of a job.

"You're going?" asks Brittany as she closes in on the door. Damn. She was kind of hoping to escape before having to say goodbye. Santana _hates_ goodbyes of any kind.

She turns around and smiles weakly at the waitress. "Yeah, I'm gonna head back to the motel," she says.

"Oh," says Brittany. Was that disappointment that Santana could detect? "Okay then. I'll see you tomorrow maybe?"

"Yeah," Santana lies with a reassuring nod. Brittany smiles at her and her heart sinks just a little bit. "I'll see you around, Brittany."

"Bye!" Brittany calls after her as she leaves the diner.

* * *

**Author's Note(s):** Part 2 coming up soon. Thanks for reading!


	2. Prologue Part 2

**Disclaimer: **See Chapter 1.

**Author's Note(s): **Bonjourno! Well, I wasn't going to post this for another couple of days, but I wanted to celebrate how Brittana is so very on that it makes me want to weep. So yeah, thank you very much to everyone who read and reviewed my first chapter :-) I hope you enjoy the second part.

**No Rest for the Wicked  
**_Prologue  
__Part 2_

_Beep beep beep. _

Santana groans and her hand shoots out to switch off the alarm. Switch it off or smash the bastard thing; she's not fussy either way.

It's one am, it's time to go, and despite her best intentions, Santana hasn't slept a wink.

She can't get Brittany out of her mind and it's driving her insane. How can one silly waitress make such an impression?

Santana grumbles into the questionably grey pillowcase and rolls ungracefully over and onto the ground with a surprisingly loud thud.

It's one of those moments that she's deeply thankful to have nobody around to witness.

She stands up and stretches; sleeping in her car for the last few days and the lumpy mattress she's just been lying on really weren't doing great things for her back. Sometimes, she kind of wishes she had somebody to complain about these things to. Santana is a huge fan of bitching about stuff.

Deciding not to dwell on these thoughts, she pulls on the clothes she'd laid out for herself and resolutely sets off to find herself a ghost. This is the fun part of the job.

As predicted, it's pretty damn cold outside; Santana ignores it though and makes her way to her car. She's got a bag ready and waiting for her in there with everything she'll need as well as some things she won't. It doesn't hurt to be prepared. Santana's a regular boy scout in that way.

To most people, the duffle bag she's now holding would seem far too clunky and heavy for the small woman to carry around with her, but Santana is deceptively strong and hoists it over her shoulder with remarkable ease. If you want to survive in this line of work, you have to always be at the top of your game.

As soon as she steps away from her car, she's on high alert. If the ghost of Catherine Swanson catches wind of what she's up to, it's going to make everything a whole lot harder, and Santana could really do with an easy victory tonight.

She traipses through the town in the direction of the cemetery. It isn't the only one around, but it's the most likely resting place of Swanson as based on the year she died. That's right. Santana does her homework well.

There's a noise behind her and Santana's shoulders stiffen.

Somebody is following her.

She keeps walking, not wanting to alert whoever it is that she's aware of their presence, but prepares herself to strike.

A corner is coming up so Santana slowly draws closer to the wall and instantly slips into the shadows when she's sure she's turned out of sight. The sound of footsteps grows progressively louder and Santana keeps her breath quiet and even.

The person rounds the corner and Santana springs into action. Before the person can react, Santana has pushed them roughly into the wall and is pressing her forearm against their throat. The person, a woman, squeals and Santana feels her eyes widen in recognition.

"Brittany?" says Santana incredulously, loosening her grip on the blonde a little but refusing to let go. "Why are you following me?"

Brittany gazes at her fearfully. "Erm…I…"

"Answer the question," Santana snaps forcefully.

The woman flinches and Santana immediately feels guilty.

"You walked past my house I wanted to see what you were doing," Brittany admits. "It's super late and you're all on your own…I wanted to make sure you were okay."

Santana releases her and Brittany slouches against the wall and takes a deep breath.

"Sorry," says Santana reluctantly. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

Brittany looks at her in a way that suggests she's seriously questioning Santana's sanity.

"Who _are_ you?" Brittany asks; it isn't the question Santana's expecting and she's momentarily thrown off guard. "Don't lie to me this time."

For a long minute, Santana debates not answering. It's none of the woman's damn business who she is. Except…Santana kind of wants to tell her.

"I'm a hunter," she says finally. "I hunt things."

"Like deer and stuff?" Brittany questions with a look of confusion on her face.

"No," says Santana slowly. "I hunt…bad things. Supernatural things."

Brittany's eyes widen and Santana fully expects her to run.

"Are you like a Ghostbuster?" asks Brittany. Santana almost smiles.

"Something like that. I hunt ghosts and werewolves and demons and other stuff," says Santana. She isn't sure why she's explaining all of this to Brittany right now. Apart from wasting valuable time, she's going to send the blonde on her merry way in a minute anyway.

"Wow," says Brittany. It was one of the very few instances when somebody Santana had just explained her job too hadn't looked like they were about to see to getting her committed. Maybe the fact that Brittany seems to believe her makes _her_ the crazy one instead. Then something akin to realisation flickers in Brittany's eyes. "That's why you were asking about the ghost my mom saw!"

Santana hushes her furiously and Brittany's cheeks turn a little pink. She's going to wake up the entire neighbourhood up if she doesn't keep her voice down.

"Yes it is," says Santana in a low voice.

"You think that it's the ghost drowning all the blonde people?" asks Brittany. Santana nods in confirmation.

"So," says Santana, "If you don't mind, I have some stuff I need to do."

She turns to leave, but Brittany catches her arm and she stops.

"What if the ghost comes for me while you're gone?" she asks fearfully.

"I'll be quick," Santana promises. "She won't have time to get you."

"You don't know that for sure," Brittany argues. "Let me come with you."

Santana almost laughs. "Trust me. You'll be putting yourself directly in harms way if you come with me. You're safer going home."

A pout appears on Brittany's face and Santana feels a creeping of doubt.

"You're putting yourself in harms way," Brittany points out. Santana nods in agreement. "Won't it be safer if there are two of us?"

It's hard to argue with that logic, but Santana knows she has to. No way is she allowing this innocent woman to follow her into a literal life or death situation. Even if she hadn't developed the world's biggest crush on her there is no way Santana is letting anybody get hurt because of her.

"No," says Santana firmly. "I can't do my job if I'm worrying about saving your ass."

"I could just follow you anyway," says Brittany with a quirk of her eyebrow.

"Yeah, and I could just knock you out and leave you here," Santana shoots back. "Neither option sounds great."

It doesn't look like Brittany has a reply to this, so Santana almost chalks it up as a victory; but then Brittany meets her gaze with a fierce determination and her resolve wavers.

"I'm coming with you," she says in a tone that books more arguments. "You shouldn't do this on your own."

Santana resists the urge to point out that she's been doing this on her own for two whole years; she knows it won't do any good and time is marching on.

"All right then," she agrees with a weary sigh. "But you have to do exactly what I tell you. Understand?"

Brittany nods with a smile on her face and Santana almost bangs her head against the wall. How does she let herself get talked into these things?

The two set off together, and naturally Brittany can't wait to start questioning Santana on everything that pops into her head. She seems to lack one of those brain-to-mouth filters.

"So how do we get rid of this ghost?" Brittany prompts, bouncing cheerfully beside her.

"We have to find her grave, dig it up and then salt and burn the bones," says Santana in an emotionless voice.

The bounce in Brittany's steps ceases and she wrinkles her nose in disgust. "That's kinda gross."

"Has to be done," is Santana's reply. "It's still not too late for you to go home."

"I'm staying with you," says Brittany firmly. Then, to make her point, she reaches over and links her pinkie with Santana's. The contact causes an odd tingling sensation in Santana's hand and her breath catches. She looks up at Brittany's face, but the woman is staring down and their joined fingers with a curious expression on her face.

"Okay," says Santana.

She doesn't really want Brittany to leave.

"What does the salt do?" asks Brittany as they continue on their way to the graveyard.

Santana shrugs. "I don't know. I was told it worked so I did it."

"And you didn't ask why?" Brittany questions curiously.

Santana presses her lips into a thin line. It's a bit of a touchy subject.

As if sensing Santana's mood shift, Brittany instead asks her who the ghost is and so Santana explains the story of Catherine Swanson as concisely as she can. By the time she's done, Brittany looks a little sad and so Santana asks her why.

"It's just sad that someone who she thought loved her was the reason she died," Brittany tells her.

Er…_whatever_, Santana thinks. What she does, however, is make a mumbled noise of agreement. If anyone who knew her could see her right now, she'd have been trussed up, thrown in a Devil's Trap and been doused in holy water so fast…

"What's your name?" asks Brittany when Santana makes no effort to continue the earlier discussion.

For a moment, Santana hesitates. In the back of her mind she knows that keeping her real identity a secret can sometimes mean the difference between life and death. Demons are far more determined to end you when they know you're famous for systematically taking down their kind.

There's something about Brittany that makes Santana all too willing to trust her. At least for the time being; she'll check for signs of possession later when it's less obvious. Just in case.

"Santana Lopez," she says finally. Brittany positively beams at her.

"I prefer that name to your other one," she says brightly. "I knew you didn't look like a Vicky."

Santana shrugs but a small smile tugs at her lips. "I have loads of fake names. Guess I can't win 'em all."

A pensive look crosses Brittany's face, but for the first time, she seems disinclined to share her thoughts with Santana. This is quite all right with Santana, because they've just turned a corner and the cemetery has crept into view.

"Okay," says Santana. "Before we go in there, do you know how to use a shotgun?"

Brittany's eyes widen and she shakes her head.

"All right," says Santana reluctantly. She unlinks their pinkies and stops to fish around in her overlarge bag. She pulls out a crowbar and hands it to a fearful looking Brittany. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

Despite the fear, Brittany's expression is one of determination when she nods. "Will this help me against ghosts?" she asks with a frown.

"Consecrated iron," says Santana. "It's the only thing that works against them." Trustingly, Brittany nods and holds the crowbar close to her chest. "Hopefully you won't need it."

They're at the entrance and Santana doesn't hesitate before strolling right through the gate, Brittany trailing behind her and glancing around frantically. Santana switches on the torch she withdrew from her bag after handing Brittany the weapon.

"Don't worry," says Santana, spotting her terror. "If we see her, it won't be until we've found her grave. You can relax for a bit."

"Yeah," says Brittany dryly. "That's not gonna happen."

Santana grins at her and they begin to walk up and down the rows of headstones.

There's something oddly peaceful about walking through a graveyard at night, Santana decides. Despite the weather, it always feels still and quiet. Unless she's being attacked by a ghost, of course; an epic battle doesn't sit well with her peace theory.

As they walk, Santana can almost feel Brittany shivering beside her, and it's something of a struggle not to reach out and comfort her. The feeling is foreign to Santana and she's not quite sure what to do with it. As a general rule, Santana doesn't really do _feelings _if she can help it; she prefers the safety of brief, emotionless acquaintances. She shakes her head free of the distractions and focuses her attention back on the desolate graves.

"Catherine Swanson," Santana reminds Brittany as they reach the more modern area. "Nineteen-forty-one to nineteen-eighty."

"You mean like that one right there?" asks Brittany, pointing to an unkempt headstone a few metres in front of them. Santana shines her torch on it and squints a little.

"Erm…yeah. Exactly like that one," she says with a short laugh.

Instantly, Brittany's grip on her crowbar tightens and Santana drops her bag to the ground with a heavy _thunk_. Brittany eyes her wearily as she withdraws a shovel, a bag of salt, lighter fluid, a lighter, and a shotgun containing iron bullets. She lays the latter four down on the ground and pushes the shovel down into the hard ground where she knows the coffin is going to be.

"This is gonna take a while," she tells Brittany. A mildly horrified look has caught the blonde woman's face, but she takes it like a man and nods.

"Do you need help or should I like…keep watch?" asks Brittany, her voice unsteady.

"Keep watch," says Santana. "And hold the torch," she adds, passing it to Brittany.

The next half an hour is spent shovelling away huge mounds of earth; it's taken Santana years to build up the stamina and strength to do this without a break. It's still exhausting though.

"Still think I'm cute?" Santana asks Brittany at one point.

Brittany lets out a slightly hysterical laugh and doesn't answer. Santana isn't sure why she's so disappointed.

When she hits something solid, a sigh of relief escapes her lips. She crashes the shovel down and the wood beneath her feet splinters and cracks. She scrapes up a couple more spade-fulls of dirt and then brushes away the last of it to reveal the skeleton of a woman. Santana grips the edges of the small ditch she's dug and pulls herself out easily.

There are dirty smudges all over her clothes and body and she wipes away a bead of sweat trickling down the side of her face. Yeah…Brittany's definitely not going to want anything to do with her after this little escapade. This is far from her best look.

She picks up the can of lighter fluid and pours it all onto the bones.

"Now we just throw salt on it and set fire to her?" asks Brittany dubiously. She's obviously been having second thoughts about Santana's sanity while she's been sat up here alone.

Santana opens her mouth to answer.

There's a remarkably human shaped flicker of light in the corner of her eye and her heart skips a beat.

Before the ghost can attack, Santana lunges forward and swipes furiously at the creature with her shovel. Brittany gasps in shock and freezes.

Swanson disappears before Santana can strike and so she changes direction quickly and makes a dive for her salt.

Her heart pounds in her chest as her fingers grip the rough material of her salt bag. She begins to tip liberal amounts of it into the grave before she is thrown roughly away by an invisible force. She crashes to the ground more than a few feet away, knocking the wind out of her painfully.

Brittany screams in terror as the ghost flickers into existence right on top of Santana. She struggles violently as pressure on her chest increases and the feeling of cold bathwater dripping onto her face sends chills through her whole body.

There's an odd smile on Catherine Swanson's face; it's one that is present on many of the ghosts Santana has fought. There's a kind of hollowness that Santana cannot help but feel a thrill of fear over. The ghost raises her hands and wraps them firmly around Santana's neck.

Santana's vision begins to darken as she claws for breath. The ghost is still staring into her eyes as her struggling becomes weaker.

Then as soon as she appeared, she's gone in a cloud of dust that disappears almost immediately. Brittany is stood above Santana, crowbar in hand and looking like…well, looking like she's just seen a ghost. She's staring at her hands as though she can't quite believe what she's just done.

The spots don't leave Santana's vision immediately, and she's still seriously dizzy from the lack of oxygen, but she allows Brittany to pull her rapidly to her feet. No time to get prissy over a bit of light-headedness.

She stumbles and Brittany catches her around the waist and together they stagger back towards the grave.

"San," says Brittany suddenly. She clutches at her throat and then falls to her knees.

Santana looks on in horror as Brittany coughs, and out comes a stream of water.

For a moment, Santana is torn between falling down beside her friend and darting back over to the grave. Instinct kicks in and she dives towards to where she knows her lighter was lying.

Brittany's breathing becomes obviously more laboured as water continues to run out of her mouth. The look of sheer terror in her eyes is unbearable.

Santana's hands find the lighter and she fumbles with the lid. Her fingers slip and she curses loudly.

It finally lights just as Swanson reappears next to Brittany.

She throws her Zippo into the grave and prays that it stays lit until it hits the ground.

Nothing happens.

Santana can feel that familiar sensation of no oxygen getting to her brain as an overwhelming feeling of despair seeps into her bones.

Then the ghost emits an earth shattering scream and Santana cries out in relief.

Still unable to stand, she crawls over to where Brittany is gasping for air and watches as the ghost catches fire and disintegrates in front of their very eyes.

When she reaches the shuddering blonde, who is now drinking in large gulps of oxygen while tears stream down her face, Santana wraps her arms around her and pulls her into a tight embrace.

"I've got you," she says, rocking Brittany gently. "You're okay now. We're safe."

Brittany makes a muffled whimpering sound and presses her face into Santana's chest.

"It's over," whispers Santana soothingly. "You did good."

They stay like that for a long time.

* * *

As Santana finishes dumping all her stuff in the trunk of the car, she feels strangely hollow. The feeling of accomplishment isn't as strong as it usually is. She still feels like a badass of course, because she just took down a psycho ghost. She's a fucking hero. But still, as she slams the hood down, she can't help but feel just a little despondent.

She'd taken Brittany home as soon as she'd calmed down from their near death experience. It was to be expected that she'd be a bit shaken up, of course, but she'd barely spoken two words to Santana on the way back. She didn't know Brittany well, but she was confident that her lack of speech was a sure sign that something was very wrong.

Santana sighs and then rolls her eyes at herself. She doesn't know why she's getting so worked up about it. She meets people like Brittany all the time.

Except that she doesn't.

_Don't get attached_, is what her father used to tell her. Yeah, well…easier said than done, apparently.

She walks back over to the motel slowly to make sure she hasn't left anything in her room. Once she left her favourite gun behind and had to travel all the way back to get it. She doesn't want to have to break into a police station again to steal back her own weapon, because that was just an embarrassing waste of her time.

Scanning the room quickly, she concludes that no, she hasn't left anything behind. Which means it's time to leave.

Fine.

Whatever.

She exits the motel room, head hung low and staring at the ground as she wanders towards her car. Someone clears their throat loudly and her head shoots up.

"Brittany?" says Santana incredulously.

The blonde woman smiles warmly at her. She's leaning against Santana's car with her arms folded and Santana dimly notes how hot she looks in clothes that isn't her waitress uniform.

"Hey, Santana," says Brittany softly. "Were you going to leave without saying goodbye to me?"

"I said goodbye to you last night," Santana points out.

Brittany frowns and hangs her head a little.

"How are you feeling?" Santana then asks when Brittany makes no effort to move or say anything else.

She shrugs her shoulders and looks at Santana with a strange expression on her face. "I feel weird. Last night was…weird. Do you know what I mean?"

No, Santana doesn't know what Brittany means. She's been doing this job for so long that she honestly doesn't remember a time when she didn't know all about the monsters under her bed. She can rationally accept that for some people, it must be strange to find out that everything you thought about the world was wrong, but it isn't something Santana has ever experienced. However, she nods slowly at Brittany.

"Some of it was kind of horrible," says Brittany, and Santana nods again, "But I feel like we did something really good."

Santana shoots her a quick grin. "We totally did."

For another few seconds, Brittany doesn't talk. She shifts a little awkwardly on Santana's car and then stares at her through clear, blue eyes. It's oddly disconcerting.

"Are there many people like you around? Like…hunters, I mean?" asks Brittany.

"There's quite a few, yeah," says Santana, not entirely sure where this is going. There aren't _enough_ hunters, but she doesn't feel the need to share this information with Brittany. She has a feeling it will just upset her.

"Oh," says Brittany, furrowing her brows. "Then why are you on your own?"

There's an uncomfortable lurching sensation in Santana's stomach as she regards the sad expression on Brittany's face.

"I don't play well with others," says Santana finally. "It's easier this way."

"But don't you get lonely?" asks Brittany, taking a small step forwards towards Santana and refusing to break eye contact with her.

Santana's hand twitches a little. "No," she lies. "I'm fine."

"Nobody even knows your real name," Brittany continues. Santana wishes she'd just shut the hell up and let her go. "And you just saved the town and nobody even knows."

"You know," Santana points out.

"Only because I followed you," replies Brittany.

Well yeah, couldn't really argue with that. Santana sighs. "Are you going anywhere with this, Brittany?"

The look of fierce determination is back and Santana suddenly feels like she isn't going to like what Brittany is about to say. "Yes. I want to come with you."

Santana's mouth drops open in shock. For over a minute, neither of them speak as Santana tries to form some kind of words.

"Absolutely fucking not!" she forces out finally.

"Why not?" says Brittany petulantly. "There's nothing keeping me here. I want to help!"

"No. Just no!" says Santana, unsure about why she feels angry. "It's too dangerous. And awful. I sleep in my car most nights. You'd hate it."

"You do it," Brittany mumbles. "I could do it too. You can teach me."

"No," Santana repeats firmly. "You'll get yourself killed."

"I didn't die last night," Brittany points out. "But you might have done if I hadn't been there."

"I would have been fine," Santana replies dismissively.

"Didn't look like it," argues Brittany, taking another step forward and successfully invades Santana's personal space. "She was going to kill you." She lifts her hand and places a gentle finger on Santana's bruised neck. Santana's breath catches in her throat and she jerks backwards.

Brittany withdraws her hand but makes no effort to move away. They're so close that Santana actively needs to tilt her head backwards to look at Brittany's face.

"What about your family and friends? If you came with me then you'd have to leave them all behind. You wouldn't be able to contact them ever again," says Santana, thinking that this will be the most likely angle to put Brittany off.

To her annoyance, Brittany shrugs and looks unconcerned. "My parents are dead and I don't have any other family," she says softly. Then she adds, "Don't really have any friends either."

"What are you talking about?" says Santana disbelievingly. "I saw you in the diner; everyone loves you."

Brittany smiles at her sadly. "They love that the young pretty blonde girl is serving them their food. They're not my friends."

"Yeah well…that's no reason to go and throw your life away," says Santana obstinately. "This isn't a job you want, Brittany. It's a job you're forced in to and can never escape. The only prospect you'll have is a probable early death."

"Not if you teach me! We'd make an awesome team," says Brittany insistently. "Come on, Santana. We'd be great together."

Her choice of words makes Santana's heart beat a little faster. The idea of spending long hours in a confined car with Brittany is not one Santana thinks she'll be able to do without making a fool of herself. Not that it matters, because Brittany is _not_ coming with her.

Brittany seems to misinterpret her sudden discomfort and she grasps both of Santana's hands in her own. The contact sends tingling warmth up Santana's arms and she blinks rapidly.

"Please, Santana," says Brittany beseechingly. "Let me come."

"No."

"Please."

"_No_."

"Pretty please with sugar on top?"

"…No."

"I'm a really fast learner," Brittany insists.

"Brittany…"

"I can just leave if it's not working out," says Brittany desperately.

Her persistence is to be admired, Santana thinks. Maybe it wouldn't be too bad to have somebody around for her a while…and then she can convince Brittany to leave afterwards. Not that it'll take much convincing. A few more near death experiences and she's bound to want to run in the other direction.

"Are you sure this is what you want, Brittany?" says Santana at last. "I wasn't exaggerating when I said how dangerous it is."

Brittany nods frantically and the sparkle has returned to her eyes.

"Okay then. We'll give this a try," says Santana reluctantly.

Brittany's face lights up and she throws herself into Santana's arms. Santana staggers backwards before regaining her footing and allowing Brittany to basically squeeze the life out of her. She feels like she should at least try to hug the other woman back, but her body just doesn't seem to be functioning in the way it should be.

When Brittany pulls away, she beams at Santana. "I knew you'd say yes!"

She literally skips around the car and bends down and out of sight. Santana stands on her tiptoes to look over, but Brittany's already stood up and is holding a large duffle bag. Bitch had this planned all along…

"I didn't know what to bring," says Brittany in a worried voice. "I just have some clothes and stuff. I looked but I didn't have any cons-cratered iron…"

"Consecrated iron," Santana idly corrects her. "That's okay. I have an arsenal in my car."

"I don't think I know how to use an arsenal," says Brittany, wrinkling her nose a little.

A small smile tugs at Santana's lips and she walks around to take the bag from Brittany. She unlocks her car and throws the bag into the back seat. They can rearrange the trunk to fit everything in later.

"I'll teach you," says Santana.

When she thinks about it, she actually likes the idea of having her own little protégé; and the fact that her new student just happens to be super hot is just something Santana will have to put up with. _Such is life_, she thinks with a sardonic grin.

"Awesome," says Brittany.

She walks over to the passenger side of the car and looks at Santana expectantly.

"We going then?" asks Brittany.

Santana suppresses a laugh at her eagerness and nods. The two get in the car and Santana starts the engine. She glances over at Brittany, who is gazing at her with both excitement and another emotion that Santana can't quite place yet.

"Where are we going first?" asks Brittany.

"I haven't decided yet," says Santana. She pulls out of the car park and drives to the end of the road. "Left or right?"

Brittany looks around. "Left."

"Good choice," she replies, turning the car.

As they drive towards the highway, Santana reaches forward and switches on the radio. 'Highway to Hell' blasts through the speakers and Santana chuckles. She flicks through the stations until she hears the opening notes of 'Me Against the Music'. _Better_, she thinks.

"I like this one," says Brittany happily, so Santana puts the volume up.

The next few hours are spent driving to all points nowhere and singing at the tops of their voices.

Santana has a feeling that the next few weeks are going to be _very_ interesting.

* * *

**Author's Note(s): **So, this is it for a while! As I'm sure people realised from like…under the title, this is just the prologue to a longer story I have in works. I have all the plot worked out and stuff, but I'm not planning to post it until it's at least mostly written. I just wanted to give you a taste of the setup and get a little feedback maybe.

I'll um…get back to writing Put On A Happy Face now. Sorry for the delay on that. I just needed to get this out of my system.

Thank you for reading!


	3. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Glee or the world in which this story is based.

**Author****'****s ****Note(s): **Hey howdy hey! Well, I'd like to thank everyone who has read and reviewed this story so far. You've been very patient :-) Anywho, I hope you enjoy this chapter.

**No Rest for the Wicked  
**_Chapter 1_

_Santana is eight when she finds out that the monsters under her bed are real. _

_It doesn't come as a complete shock to her; she's still young enough to have a secret belief in magic, so monsters don't seem too unreasonable. _

_She and her parents are staying in some fancy hotel in California while her father attends a work conference. He's a doctor; the kind of doctor that cuts open people's heads, but that's as far as Santana's knowledge on the subject goes. All she knows is that whatever it is he does means that she and her mom spend a lot of time waiting for him to come home. _

_It happens in a park; the nice sort of park with a pond and trees and grass. Maybe if it hadn't been, she'd have seen them coming. _

_That day she learns that vampires travel in groups. _

_She also learns that at the tender age of eight, she isn't big enough to be worth their time. Her mom is though. _

_They promise to come back for her when she's older, and Santana doesn't doubt them for a second. _

_It takes hours for anybody to find her. It's way past midnight and it takes the police ten whole minutes to convince her to release her tight grip on her mother's body. She cries all the way to the hospital and it takes a slap across the face from her father before she'll tell the police what she saw. _

_They don't believe her. _

_Why would they? _

_The doctor tells them that the high stress situation had caused her to hallucinate and that her mother was probably killed by a wild animal. He is at a loss to explain the complete lack of blood left in the body, but the police seem not to dwell on this aspect of the case. _

_Before Santana leaves the hospital, she is questioned by two men claiming they are with the FBI. Santana doesn't believe them for a second; she knows that no respectable adult would believe her tales of vampires and she's pretty sure that Robby Steinhardt and Steve Walsh are members of Kansas. Her father obviously thinks so too, because he leaves her alone for the rest of the day to follow them. _

_When he comes back, his face is pale and drawn and he apologises profusely for not believing her in the first place. It doesn't make her feel any better. _

_From that point on, Papa Lopez quits his job at the hospital and devotes the rest of his time and effort into learning all about vampires and all the other supernatural beings at large in their already corrupt world. He becomes, in short, a hunter. A damn good one too. He's always been smart and he often tells Santana that once you've been a surgeon, you can be whatever the hell you want to be. He's sure she doesn't notice the wistful tone in his voice whenever he mentions his old job; his old life. _

_He never mentions Santana's mother though. _

_Santana spends the next two years going to school as normal and living with her aunt, who doesn't much care for her sullen and damaged niece, but tolerates her; and as far as her father is concerned, that's all that matters._

* * *

_As Santana approaches her thirteenth birthday, her aunt dies of a stroke. Santana isn't there for it, but she finds the body when she comes home from school. It takes three days for her dad to swing back into town and by that point Santana has been forced to speak to two child counsellors. Leaving out the vampire stuff, she tells them in no uncertain terms that finding her aunt's body is nowhere near as scarring as watching her mother being murdered. The counsellors don't seem quite sure how to respond to this._

_She loved her aunt, but Santana can't help but feel a thrill of excitement at the prospect of spending time with her father again. Since her mother's death she only sees him once every two or three months, and never for very long. She misses him. _

_But, Santana's desires to spend more time with her father are soon understood to be childish misconceptions. The only difference to her life is that now instead of spending large amounts of time with her aunt, she spends large amounts of time of her own and living in some crappy motel room that doesn't even have a good TV. _

_Her father makes the effort to at least stay in the general area, and when he moves on, he simply transfers Santana to a new a school. Despite his preoccupation with hunting down monsters, Papa Lopez still understands the value of a well rounded education. _

_For her part, Santana makes the best of her new found alone time. She pretends to herself that it's great being able to do what she wants without any parents telling her what to do. She has no curfew, nobody to yell at her to do homework and she can eat junk food whenever the hell she wants. It's any almost-teenagers dream. And yet she finds herself almost excited to go to school everyday, something which was far from the case up until this point. She tells herself it's because she just likes to learn. Deep down she knows it's because she's lonely. _

_Somewhere between the ages of thirteen and fourteen, boys begin to notice her. It makes sense, she thinks to herself, even at her age she is very pretty. She finds herself with a new boyfriend every couple of weeks. It isn't an ideal scenario, she realises, and if her father were to find out he'd probably slap her so hard that she'd be seeing stars for a week. _

_The boys make her feel wanted. Even if it's only for a little while. _

_When Santana is fifteen, she falls in love. Or at least she thinks that's what it is at the time. His name is John and he's sweet to her. Sweeter than she'd known any boy had the capability of being. He's attentive and doesn't just dismiss her as the hot girl with nothing upstairs. He buys her flowers and takes her to the movies and doesn't even care that her clothes are threadbare and look second hand, which they are for the most part. _

_Santana loses her virginity to him and he tells her he loves her later that night when they're cuddled up in bed together. Santana can't bring herself say those three little words back to him. He understands though and kisses her softly to prove it. _

_Three weeks later, her dad comes back and it's off to a new school._

_Santana begs and pleads with him to let her stay, but he doesn't listen to a word of it. He's lost a bit of weight and there's a haunted look in his eyes that suggests that his last hunt had not ended well. _

_He threatens to knock her out and take her with him unconscious if needs be, and she's under no illusions that his threats are empty. She packs up her meagre belongings and they leave for Ohio. He doesn't even let her say goodbye to John. _

_From then on, Santana knows not to let herself get attached. _

_She goes from meaningless sexual escapade to the next, not caring about who she's doing it with or the damage it might cause. At first, she can fool herself into thinking it's John who she's with. The high she gets from every orgasm can almost be mistaken for love, Santana thinks. As time passes she grows more distant and begins to understand that nothing will replace that original feeling, but she continues her quest anyway. It makes her feel like someone cares for her, even if it's only for one night, and in the end that's all that matters to Santana. A couple of times she even finds herself a temporary girlfriend. If anything, Santana has more fun with these girls than she ever has with boys. She tries not to dwell too much on it though. _

_After Santana turns eighteen, she graduates from high school. She's done pretty well considering she hasn't stayed at any one school for more than three months in the past five years. Naturally, her father doesn't attend her graduation; he said he would but gets caught up in some demon problem in a small town in Wisconsin. Santana is deeply unsurprised but still a little disappointed. _

_When her father returns he doesn't hesitate in packing her up and taking her on her first hunt._

* * *

Brittany hadn't lied when she'd told Santana that she's a fast learner. Within the first day Santana discovers that Brittany isn't exactly what one would call academically smart, but as Santana teaches her some basic self-defence skills, Brittany picks them up remarkably quickly.

"I used to be a dancer," she tells her idly when Santana comments on it. "I'm good at using my body."

Santana swallows back any feelings she might be have about this new development and clears her throat. "How come you stopped?"

With a sad smile, Brittany tells her that she had to leave college when her mom got sick and then she couldn't afford to go back.

"That's a shame," remarks Santana, unsure of what else to say. But Brittany smiles at her anyway and holds her fists up in the way that Santana has told her to.

They spar for a little while and Brittany actually lands a couple of hits; okay, so Santana is holding back to give Brittany a fighting chance, but it's still kind of impressive. When they're done, Santana is feeling a little hot under the collar, and it isn't just because of the training. There are beads of sweat rolling down Brittany's flushed face and Santana struggles to drag her eyes away. If Brittany notices, she doesn't say anything.

"What's next, boss?" asks Brittany teasingly as the two women flop down on the ground.

It's a surprisingly nice day; not too hot and not too cold. They're currently occupying a small clearing in some kind of national park that Santana spotted as they drove. It seemed like the perfect place to teach Brittany a couple of things before Santana thrusts her willingly into danger for a second time. It would have been a better idea if Brittany hadn't turned out to have the most bizarre phobia of the ducks that were waddling around the pond they passed. Honestly, she'd looked more frightened than she had in the cemetery. Santana would have laughed if she hadn't thought it would just further upset her new companion, and upsetting Brittany is something she has no desire to do.

"I kinda thought we could just stay here for a few more minutes," says Santana, picking at the coarse grass underneath her hands. It's not often she gets to relax like this.

"Okay," Brittany agrees. She shuffles over so she she's laying next to Santana and links their pinkies together. Santana has never known anyone to be quite so…tactile with her before without their goal being to get into her pants, and she finds it just a little unnerving but in no way unpleasant.

She closes her eyes and tries to ignore the bubbly presence beside her. It's harder than Santana anticipates, but she's confident that given time she can get over this little crush she has on her new friend. Yeah, so she's super hot and everything, but Santana meets new people all the time. Maybe she'll try and pick someone up in her next hunt. Someone equally hot. Work some of the building sexual frustration out of her system.

"What are you thinking?" says Brittany next to Santana's ear. She shivers a little and hopes that Brittany doesn't notice.

"That I should probably teach you how to shoot a gun at some point," she lies.

"Oh," says Brittany thoughtfully. "Guns are really loud."

"Yep," Santana agrees. "We'll have to find somewhere away from civilisation to practice."

"Whatever you want, Santana," says Brittany. A chill runs up her spine.

* * *

It takes a full three weeks before Santana decides that Brittany is ready for her first hunt. A long, torturous three weeks of Brittany becoming more and more touchy feely with Santana and not realising the deeply uncomfortable effects it has. Or she does realise and just doesn't care. Santana is sure it's the former, because she suspects if Brittany understood the reason why it makes her nervous she'd be running in the opposite direction. From what Santana gathers from tales of Brittany's sexcapades in college, Santana it totally barking up the wrong tree. And that sucks, but she can deal with it. No problem.

Sleeping so close together in her cramped car at night isn't exactly making it easy though.

They're sat in a diner much like the one that Brittany has left behind when Santana tells her the news. Brittany practically squeals with excitement and Santana has a feeling that she'd be on the end of another bone-crushing hug if there wasn't a table between them. A smile tugs at her lips as Brittany's eyes sparkle enthusiastically. She looks between Santana and the laptop she's brought in with her.

Santana suspects Brittany is looking back on their experience with the ghost through rose-tinted glasses.

"Okay," says Santana, opening the lid of her computer. "I've been looking around and I've found a couple of possibles." Brittany nods, rapt with attention. "I think we should go here." She spins the laptop around so Brittany can read the article.

"Bryan Ryan, thirty-four, blah blah blah," Brittany reads aloud. "Died of lung cancer…blah blah blah…no prior medical symptoms…That is pretty weird."

"Yeah," says Santana in agreement. She takes the laptop back and switches the tab and then returns it to Brittany.

Brittany scans the article and bites down on her bottom lip in concentration. "Two people dying from lung cancer in the same town without anyone knowing they had it is really weird, right?"

"Sounds like my…our kind of case," Santana adds.

"I didn't know ghosts could give people cancer," says Brittany blandly. She takes a sip of her orange juice and gazes at Santana with expectation.

With a shrug, Santana says, "They can do all kindsa weird shit. I don't really understand how it works."

"Maybe we should ask one of them?" Brittany replies with a grin, and Santana is only half convinced she's joking. "Have you ever tried talking to them? Maybe they're just misunderstood, like Professor Snape or Lenny."

Santana blinks. "Well I don't know who they are, but I'll definitely put 'talk to them' on my to-do list."

There's a definite giggle at that and Santana smiles a little. She really likes having Brittany around. It's nice to have somebody to talk to for a change. Naturally, Santana doesn't tell Brittany this; she doesn't want to make it harder for her when she inevitably decides to leave. Some people just aren't cut out for the life of a hunter and Santana has a feeling that Brittany is one of those people. She doesn't want to be responsible for the slow destruction of Brittany's happiness and easygoing nature.

They sit in silence for a few minutes and finish off their breakfast. Something else Santana has learned about her new friend is that it doesn't seem to matter how much junk food she eats, it doesn't put a dent on her fantastic figure. While Santana is forcing down a healthy breakfast of mixed fruit, Brittany is wolfing down a bacon sandwich with a look of indecent enjoyment on her face. Despite the gratuitous amount of exercise Santana does, she has learnt the hard way that if she doesn't as least _try_ to keep her calorie count down, her weight increases rather quickly. She guesses her metabolism is just awful. Brittany, on the other hand, clearly has some kind of thyroid problem because there is no way she should be so skinny with the amount of sugar and fat she crams into her mouth on an hourly basis. The endless supply of peanut M&M's the woman seems to carry around with her is frankly astonishing. Santana has never seen her buy any.

"How do people become ghosts?" asks Brittany after a while.

Santana thinks about this for a minute. "Nobody knows for sure, I don't think," she says. "Popular theory is that they're people who are too afraid to move on and get stuck on earth. Then they just get angrier and angrier until they become vengeful spirits."

"That's kind of sad," says Brittany, finishing off her orange juice with a large gulp.

Santana hums in agreement but honestly doesn't much care. "I guess the moral of the story is to go into the light."

"That's a little morbid," Brittany remarks.

"A bit of morbidity is a drawback of the job I'm afraid," says Santana wearily.

The sparkle in Brittany's eyes dims a little as she gives Santana one of those long stares, like she's seeing something that nobody else can. Then she smiles weakly. "We'll see."

"Don't worry," says Santana reassuringly. "Saving the world has plenty of perks too."

"I'm gonna be a hero," says Brittany in a sing-song voice.

"Totally," Santana agrees.

"You've got a head start though," says Brittany, then she pouts her lips in a way that makes strange feelings arise in Santana's stomach.

"I sure do," she says with a flash of a smile.

"How long until I catch up?" asks Brittany. Santana laughs a little.

"You're never going to catch up, Britt," she says cheerfully. "Every extra day you put in will be an extra day I will have too."

Brittany huffs childishly and crosses her arms over her chest. "How long until I catch up to where you are now then?"

"Erm," Santana mutters, doing some quick math in her head. "Since I turned eighteen so…five years, give or take."

"Wow," says Brittany, her eyes widening a little. "That's a long time."

"Mm," replies Santana with a grim smile.

"Although it does mean we're the same age," adds Brittany, her cheer returning almost instantly. "When's your birthday?"

It pains Santana a little to register that she actually has to think for a few moments to remember. It's been so long since she celebrated her birthday that she can barely recall when it is.

"November second," she says finally. Brittany quirks an eyebrow, probably at how long it took Santana to answer. "How about you?"

"June the eighth," Brittany replies quickly. "It was a couple of months ago."

"Happy belated Birthday, then," says Santana lazily as she turns back to her laptop to search Google maps for directions.

"Thanks!" says Brittany warmly.

"No problem," says Santana.

She pulls out a little notepad and pen from her pocket and begins to write down a series of instructions. One of the benefits of no longer hunting with her father is that Santana is no longer forced to wander lonely roads with no idea where they're going. Her father had some strange aversion to ever checking maps to find places. He seemed to believe he could get to where he wanted to go on instinct alone. Santana, of course, thought he was insane. Her father would have none of it though.

"All right," says Santana when she's finished. "Road trip?"

* * *

When Santana and Brittany pull into the small town just outside New Orleans, Brittany is absolutely fascinated. She's only ever been to a couple of places outside of her hometown before, so she is positively enthralled by the new location. The novelty has worn off for Santana so she's far more interested in finding a motel so she can have a shower, but she can't deny that she feels some second-hand enjoyment from Brittany. She doesn't think she's ever seen an adult enjoy something with such childlike enthusiasm before and it fills the air with uncommon lightness.

The town itself has a certain smoky yet sophisticated quality about it. Santana notes that the further from the centre they go, the shabbier everything seems to become. The difference between the rich and poor areas in the same place has always amused Santana. Well, amused may be too strong a word; Santana has been on the receiving end of a so-called 'class war' in one of her schools and it wasn't an experience she particularly enjoyed.

"That place is pretty," says Brittany, pointing to a giant white building as they drove through the centre of town. Santana slows down and takes a closer look.

"It's a museum," she says.

"Can we go?" asks Brittany excitedly.

"If you want," replies Santana with a laugh. "I wouldn't have thought museums would be your thing though."

Brittany nods. "Mummies are the coolest."

Santana wouldn't really know about that; she's never been to a museum before. Maybe a little trip with Brittany after the hunt is over will be fun. Assuming Brittany hasn't already run away as fast as she can; which Santana has learnt is pretty damn fast. Damn those impossibly long legs.

A bit further out of town and Santana spots a motel. She sighs in relief and pulls into the car park. Brittany is staring at it a little dubiously but says nothing as Santana practically scrambles out the door and stretches her aching limbs.

"Ow," says Santana emotionlessly. "I don't know about you, but I can't wait to sleep in a proper bed tonight."

Brittany smiles vacantly. "Sleeping in the car isn't too bad."

"Let's see if you still feel that way in a couple years," Santana remarks darkly. Brittany shoots her a rather smug look that Santana can't quite decipher.

"Can we share a room?" Brittany asks as they make their way to the front desk. Santana looks at her in question and Brittany shrugs. "We don't have to," she says in a small voice. "I just didn't want to be on my own while there are ghosts and stuff out to get us."

"Of course we can share a room," says Santana quickly. She takes a deep breath and tells herself that she can push past her own discomfort. Brittany smiles at her and then holds the door of the reception open so Santana can walk through it.

The guy at the desk looks up and his eyes light up at the sight of them. It's a look that Santana is intimately familiar with and she resists the urge to roll her eyes. No way is this guy getting into either of their pants. Even if he didn't look about thirteen it would so not be happening. The greasy ginger hair and bad case of acne is just a bit of a turn off.

"Hello there, ladies," he says in a surprisingly high pitched voice. "How can I help you?"

"Twin room," says Santana. She's not at all in the mood to chat with this kid.

His face falls a little bit and she hears Brittany giggle as he spins around on his chair and consults his computer. His computer that looks about fifty years old. A confused look crosses the boys face and he taps a couple of times on the enter button.

"Um…" Santana doesn't like the sound of that um at all. "We only have double rooms and a couple of single rooms left."

"We'll take the double room," says Brittany quickly. The boy looks surprised but goes back to tapping away on his computer.

Santana swallows and twitches uncomfortably. What the hell is the girl trying to do to her…?

The boy gives them a price and Santana pays on one of her fake credit cards in exchange for a key. Brittany is practically bouncing on the balls of her feet in excitement.

"Calm down," says Santana with a laugh as the two make their way to their room, bags slung over their backs. "You'll draw attention to us."

"People are already looking at us," says Brittany with confidence. "We're hot."

Santana knows full well that she's super hot, but hearing it from Brittany causes a flush to creep up her neck and she slams her mouth shut. Thankfully, Brittany doesn't seem to notice and continues to literally skip towards their room.

Oh yeah. This is going to be fun.

The first thing Santana does when they get in the crappy room is go for that freaking shower she's been desperate for. It's actually the first time she's spent more than fifteen minutes away from Brittany since they started travelling together, and as she steps under the hot spray of water, she can feel tension leek out of her body. It's tension she hasn't even realised has built up until this point.

She lets out a deep sigh and picks up her shampoo.

Brittany is a distraction. The kind of distraction likely to get her killed.

If her dad could see her now, Santana knows that he'd be ashamed of her. Like a hard slap across the face and a stern dressing down kind of ashamed. She's breaking about four of the ever important ground rules that he'd laid out when she first began hunting with him, but she honestly can't find it in herself to care. Despite his amazing hunting skills, Santana has never seen her father as someone she wants to be. She doesn't think she'd be able to cope with living in such misery for the rest of her probably short life. Maybe breaking his rules is a good thing.

She rinses the coconut shampoo from her hair and moves on to lather in the conditioner.

The thing is, now that she has Brittany she doesn't think she can happily go back to travelling alone. Travelling with Brittany is nothing like travelling with her father was. Santana thinks it's to do with the fact that Brittany is her equal, whereas her father was her boss and superior in every way. Or at least he liked to imagine he was. It's only been a few weeks, but Santana feels a pull in Brittany's direction that she's never felt before. She doesn't necessarily understand it, but she knows it's going to hurt when she leaves. Not that she'll be admitting this fact out loud anytime soon. Or ever, in fact.

She supposes she could hunt with Quinn for a while, but she suspects they'd end up killing each other before they even have a chance to kill any evil. Plus, Quinn's a bitch and Santana hates her. She's pretty sure that Brittany couldn't be a bitch if she actively tried. For this reason, she and Santana shouldn't really get along as well as they do.

Santana switches off the shower and quickly dries herself off on a rather questionable looking towel. She usually has her own, but in her haste to escape Brittany for a few minutes she's forgotten it. As a general rule, using _anything_ provided in motel rooms is a huge mistake. She might live out of her car for the most part, but Santana's still a girl and she does have some standards.

Once she's dressed, Santana leaves the tiny bathroom and discovers Brittany laying on the bed…their bed…with her arms folded behind her head. She looks up and smiles at Santana.

"Do you feel better now?" she asks.

Santana nods. "I feel less like plants are going to die when I walk past them."

With a giggle, Brittany jumps to her feet and brushes past Santana on her way into the bathroom. "I'll be quick," she says brightly. "Then we can start hunting stuff!"

Before Santana can respond, Brittany has closed the door and Santana hears her switch the shower on. She shakes her head in amusement; nobody should be this enthusiastic about actively looking for trouble.

It's getting late, so Santana isn't actually planning to go anywhere today. She's found that the police are less receptive to her when she bustles into their office when it's already getting dark outside. She possibly should have told Brittany that before she disappeared into the bathroom, but never mind.

She looks around their room; it's pretty much identical to every other one she's slept in over the years. In some ways, it's a comfort to Santana that something remains constant in her life. The rest of it seems so haphazard that something as simple as the layout of her room staying consistent is always something she's appreciated. There is one minor difference to this one though; apparently while she was showering, Brittany had taken the liberty of unpacking some of her own and Santana's clothes and hung them up in the wardrobe. Santana tilts her head and wonders how it somehow makes the room more homely.

Deciding not to dwell on it, she pulls out her laptop and begins to research some local history. It's more difficult that it had been in Brittany's home town because the area is a lot bigger, but she plugs away until she hears the bathroom door open.

Brittany steps into the room, wearing nothing but a towel wrapped firmly around herself and Santana begins to choke into her water bottle. Brittany rushes over to her and wraps her long fingers around Santana's shoulders.

"You okay, Santana?" she asks fearfully. Close proximity _not_ helping, Santana thinks as she coughs violently.

"I'm fine," she forces out between coughs. It takes a few moments, but her spluttering eventually stops, leaving her face red and her throat aching. "Water just went down the wrong way. I'm okay now."

Brittany looks a little dubious, but squeezes her shoulder reassuringly and wanders over to the wardrobe.

"What do you think I should wear?" she asks, throwing a glance at Santana over her shoulder.

"You can wear whatever you want," Santana tells her. Her voice sounds hoarse. "We aren't going anywhere tonight."

"How come?" says Brittany, sounding genuinely disappointed. Santana chuckles.

"It's almost seven o clock," she points out. "A bit late to start questioning the locals."

Making a quiet noise of displeasure, Brittany picks out a pair of jeans and a tight fitting white t-shirt and then walks over to the set of drawers and pulls out some clean underwear. Naturally, Santana expects Brittany to go back into the bathroom to get dressed.

Of course, this isn't what happens.

Brittany drops her towel and Santana almost starts choking again. She quickly focuses her attention back onto her laptop screen, but out the corner of her eye, she can most definitely make out Brittany's naked back. Her cheeks begin to burn and Santana resists the urge to shift uncomfortably. _Why __the __hell __does __this __woman __have __absolutely __no __sense __of __personal __boundaries_?

She can't help herself. She glances back over at Brittany, who is thankfully at least wearing underwear now. No, _we __don__'__t __perv __on __our __friends_, Santana tells herself while forcing her eyes back onto the computer screen. Oh God…this is an absolute _nightmare_.

* * *

**Author****'****s ****Note(s):** Okay, so I wasn't planning to post this until I'd finished the entire story, but that's just not really working for me at the moment. Plus it's Christmas and I haven't updated any of my fics in an eon. I hope you enjoyed it and thank you for reading!

Also, **Merry Christmas, Happy Chanukah, Happy Holidays** and all that jazz.


	4. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Glee or the world in which this story is based.

**Author's Note(s): **Bonjourno, folks. As ever, thank you so much to everyone who is reading and reviewing! So, as requested, here is a pre-New Years update. I hope everyone had a fantastic Christmas, Chanukah, holiday etc etc.

**No Rest for the Wicked  
**_Chapter 2_

It's finally morning and Santana gulps down her coffee at record speed. Apparently, Brittany is a cuddler. Santana had spent most of the night stiff as a board while Brittany draped herself over her and buried her face into Santana's neck. It means she hasn't had much sleep and is struggling to look Brittany in the eye because it just reminds her how fast her heart had raced at the simple, innocent contact.

"Are you okay?" Brittany asks her from across the café table. "You look sleepy."

"I'm fine," Santana assures her. Brittany doesn't look like she believes her, but thankfully she lets the matter drop. Santana is pretty sure that telling Brittany she was unable to sleep because any kind of physical contact between the two of them sends Santana into some kind of emotionally charged frenzy will not go down well.

Today, they're decked out in their finest fake FBI gear. Santana has already acquired fake ID for Brittany and presented it to her a little earlier. It had been greeted with a great deal of excitement and Santana had been treated to another bone-crushing hug. Santana feels less lecherous about enjoying this physical contact because Brittany is actually conscious for it. She's pretty sure that soon she might even be able to hug her back.

"So, what's your name?" Santana questions for a second time.

"I'm Special Agent Laura Hunt," replies Brittany promptly. "And you're Special Agent Helen Grayle."

"Very good," says Santana, leaning back in her chair.

Their waitress ambles over and refills Santana's coffee. Brittany thanks her and then her eyes turn to watch Santana over her half eaten blueberry muffin. There's something pensive about her expression.

"What?" asks Santana after a moment. Brittany's cheeks turn a little pink and Santana raises an eyebrow.

"It's nothing," says Brittany quickly. "Just thinking."

Santana makes a disbelieving noise but decides not to question Brittany further. She's sure she'll find out later; Brittany isn't exactly good at keeping her mouth closed.

"All right," says Santana. "We're gonna head to the coroner's office first to take a look at the bodies."

Brittany wrinkles her nose in disgust. "I don't think I want to look at dead bodies."

"That's okay," says Santana with a grim smile. "You can wait outside."

Relief is palpable on Brittany's face and once again Santana begins to have second thoughts over her wisdom in allowing Brittany to come with her. She pushes the unwanted feelings down and waits for Brittany to finish her food so they can head off to start their investigation.

* * *

"Special Agent Grayle, FBI," says Santana, holding up her badge for the coroner to see. "This is my partner, Special Agent Hunt." Brittany remains motionless and Santana fights the urge to roll her eyes. "…also FBI." Brittany almost jumps and quickly fishes her badge from the pocket of her suit jacket.

The coroner, a woman in her late forties with flecks of grey already showing in her long brown hair, looks at them rather uncertainly. Santana has a feeling that they won't be getting past this one with particular ease. There's intelligence behind her eyes that Santana surprisingly doesn't often see in people involved in law enforcement. They might have been okay without Brittany's fumbling, but she's now looking at them with definite suspicion. Beside her, Brittany shifts nervously.

"Is that right," says the coroner finally. "I'm Dr. Ellis."

Santana reaches back into her pocket and withdraws a card. "Our supervisor's number," she tells the coroner. Brittany shoots her a puzzled look and Santana makes a mental note to tell her to be less obvious as soon as they're outside. She isn't being as unflappable as Santana would like.

The doctor takes the card and moves over to her phone and dials the number. While the woman's back is turned, Santana winks at Brittany and grins. The coroner has a brief conversation on the phone and then turns back to Santana with a look of acceptance.

"What do you need to know, Agents?" says Dr. Ellis.

"Tell me about Azimio Adams and Bryan Ryan," says Santana, pulling out her trusty notebook.

A frown crosses the doctor's face. "Well," she says, leading Santana and Brittany to her immaculately kept desk, "They both died from sudden onset lung cancer. It's admittedly very peculiar; I don't, however, see why the FBI are interested."

"It isn't your job to," replies Santana in a cold voice. The woman glares at her and Santana can practically feel Brittany twitching fretfully beside her. "Are you sure it's lung cancer?"

For a moment, Santana thinks she isn't going to get an answer, but obviously the woman's own curiosity over the case overrides her desire to send them both away. "I checked for everything," the woman admits. "To all intent and purpose, they died from lung cancer."

"And there was nothing strange about it?" asks Santana.

"Other than its instantaneous development, you mean?" replies Dr. Ellis dryly. Santana scowls and Ellis purses her thin lips. "No. I ran every tox screen in the book. No drugs, no nothing in the bodies that shouldn't have been there. Except lung cancer."

"Is it possible they had the cancer before and just hadn't shown any symptoms?" asks Santana.

The woman shakes her head. "It's possible with Bryan Ryan, but Azimio Adams had a physical three weeks earlier. I spoke to his GP and she said he was in peak physical condition."

"That's weird, right?" says Brittany quietly. Santana nods and the coroner looks at them curiously. "Were there any other injuries?" Brittany asks.

The coroner taps her index finger on her desk. "Bryan Ryan hit his head when he fell."

"Is it possible that was the cause of death?" asks Santana.

"No," says the doctor firmly. "It was the cancer."

Brittany and Santana glance at each other and then Santana nods her head. "Okay, thank you for your time, Dr. Ellis."

The doctor purses her lips again and rudely doesn't reply.

"It's been a pleasure," Santana adds sarcastically, and then she leads Brittany from the office and out the building.

When they're outside, Brittany takes a deep breath and wrings her hands anxiously. Santana pats her on the shoulder and smiles.

"You did great," Santana lies.

Brittany laughs. "No I didn't. But thanks for trying."

With a shrug, Santana gestures towards where her car is parked. "It was a good first attempt. We can work on it. You just need to look a bit less terrified because it makes us seem suspicious."

The look on Brittany's face suggests that she's working really hard to commit this to memory. Santana grasps her hand as they cross the street and smiles. "Don't worry so much, Britt. You're doing fine. I promise."

Brittany makes a noise of disbelief, but curls her fingers around Santana's.

"I wouldn't say it if it wasn't true," Santana then adds.

"All right," says Brittany, a little reluctantly.

They walk to Santana's car, hand in hand, and then Brittany releases her to walk around to the passenger side. "Where to next?" asks Brittany.

Santana taps a couple of times on the top of her car. "I don't think your going to like this bit," she tells Brittany honestly. "We need to talk to the families of the victims."

* * *

As they exit the Ryan household, Brittany's face crumples a little and she gazes over at Santana with distress.

"Why do we have to do this, Santana?" she asks sadly. She'd managed to keep it together while they were in the house, but Santana could tell that Brittany was cracking when Bryan Ryan's mother had burst into tears.

Santana leads Brittany away from the house and sits down on the curb. The sun beating down on the back of her neck feels strangely out of place.

"Not every case is as easy as yours was," says Santana when Brittany is next to her. "The connection between the victims is a major part of figuring out what we're dealing with and how to stop it." Brittany bobs her head a little to show she understands. "The connection between the victims in your town was obvious," Santana continues. "It always is when it's to do with physical appearance. But here it's something else, and to stop it we need to find out what these two guys had in common."

"And the only way we can do that is by talking to the people that know them," says Brittany wearily. "I get it."

Forcing a smile that she doesn't feel, Santana nods a little. "You don't need to do this, Brittany," she says softly. "I'll understand if you want to leave."

Brittany looks up at her and for one heartbreaking moment, Santana is sure that she's going to agree with her and go. Instead, she rests her head on Santana's shoulder. "I want to stay with you," she says. Santana grins but swiftly wipes it from her face before Brittany can see. "It was just a bit of a shock. I'll get better."

"You will," Santana assures her, "But that doesn't mean you have to. You could wait outside if you need to?"

"I want to stay with you," Brittany repeats.

Trying to keep the look of satisfaction at bay, Santana nods and briefly wraps one of her arms around Brittany's shoulders and squeezes her affectionately. When she releases her and gestures for her to stand up, Brittany is wearing a bizarrely joyful expression on her face. Santana decides it best not to ask.

Between them they decide to go and visit Bryan Ryan's co-workers before getting some lunch. Santana suspects it's just because Brittany wants to get it out of the way as soon as possible, but she's not fussy either way so she goes along with it. This is why, a couple of wrong turns later, the two women pull up outside a stuffy looking office. Brittany furrows her brows in confusion; apparently the idea of working somewhere like this is deeply troublesome to her. Santana bites back the urge to point out that her little diner was just as bad.

"Game face on," Santana reminds her. Brittany schools her features into something a little more serious looking and Santana smiles.

They walk into the building together and immediately the two scruffy looking men inside look up with baffled expressions on their face. The room holds the air of somewhere that had once been at the pinnacle of advanced technology and substance, but has begun to fall apart from years of misuse and poor maintenance. It also kind of smells like sweat and grease and Santana and Brittany share a look of disgust.

One of the men jumps to his feet and rushes over to them. He thrusts his hand out to Brittany, but she simply stands there and looks at him uncomprehendingly. Santana fights back a laugh as he falters and his hand falls awkwardly back down to his side.

"Hi," he says, "I'm John. John Beckett. I'm in charge here."

"Great," replies Santana dryly. She pulls out the badge from her pocket and is pleased when Brittany does the same. "I'm Agent Grayle and this is Agent Hunt. We're with the FBI."

John Beckett's eyes widen comically and he shares an incredulous look with his afro-sporting co-worker. "I didn't send that virus," he says suddenly. "I swear!"

Santana rolls her eyes and Brittany frowns. Oh how she hates computer nerds. "We're here to talk about Bryan Ryan," says Brittany. She sounds confident and Santana has to suppress a pleased grin. John looks both relieved and confused.

"He died of lung cancer, right?" says the guy still sat at his desk.

John nods in agreement and adjusts his faded blue tie. "What do you want to know?"

Fishing through her pocket, Santana pulls out a piece of paper and hands it to John. He unfolds it and furrows his brows. "Have you ever seen this man before?"

"Azimio Adams," John reads from top. He holds it up to Afro who shakes his head. "I've never seen him before."

"You've never seen him talking to Bryan before?" Brittany prompts.

"Definitely not," says John definitively. He gives the photograph back to Santana.

"Okay," says Santana slowly. "Before he died, did Ryan say anything strange to you?"

John purses his lips and the other guy laughs. "He says…said strange things all the time," replies Afro, automatically correcting himself with frown. "He had what we liked to call an over-zealous work ethic."

As opposed to these losers who seem to have no work ethic at all judging from the all the crumpled paper lying around and the way Beckett's computer clearly displays a half finished game of Solitaire.

"What about a girlfriend?" asks Santana. "Was he seeing anybody?"

This time, both of the men laugh.

"God, no," says John, wiping away an imaginary tear. Obviously these two guys aren't a big fan of their fallen colleague.

"Why not?" says Brittany with an almost imperceptible frown.

John seems to contemplate his answer carefully. "Well," he begins slowly. "Bryan wasn't exactly what one might call a 'people person'."

"Can you elaborate?" Santana prompts.

"He had a tendency of scaring off anybody who came within a ten foot radius," says the man at the desk in an impassive voice. Beckett nods his head in agreement.

"Not to speak ill of the dead, but Bryan wasn't a nice guy," says John. "He was very…intense."

Santana considers this new information carefully. They've heard similar things about Adams. It might be nothing, but Santana makes a mental note anyway.

"Actually," says Beckett abruptly, "Bryan did say something really bizarre last time I saw him."

"Oh?" Santana prompts, trying not to sound too interested.

Beckett furrows his substantial eyebrows and shakes his head a little. "I'm sure it's nothing," he says, sounding like he suddenly regrets mentioning it. "We were sat in the office and he was going through a list of the schools he needed to visit or something. I wasn't really listening to be honest. But then he started yelling at me to turn the music off."

"Music," Santana repeats faintly.

With a nod, Beckett continues, "Yeah. The thing is though…I wasn't playing music. When I said so he freaked out and started bitching about a saxophone and saying that I was trying to put him off and that it wasn't going to work." A very small smirk appears on the man's face. "It was kind of funny actually."

Well, this is something that Santana can work with. She shoots Brittany a quick grin of triumph that goes unnoticed by the other two occupants in the room, who are still struggling to make eye contact with either of them.

"And you're sure there was no music?" asks Santana.

"Dude, if there was music I didn't hear it," says John. For the sake of Brittany, Santana bites back a scathing remark at this term of address. She's the fucking FBI. Well…no, she's not; but he thinks she is. A little more respect, please. "Besides, the guy reckoned it was some kind of jazz crap. I'm all about the eighties."

"So he thought he could hear jazz music?" Brittany says slowly. She glances at Santana for confirmation.

"Yeah. I guess if he was going to imagine music it was probably going to be jazz. He used to spend whole weekends at some old jazz themed bar. Raved about the place for some reason. Some people have no taste." He pushes his thick-rimmed glasses up his greasy nose.

"Does this place have a name?" says Santana.

"The Hideaway," the guy with the afro pipes up.

Santana nods, feeling remarkably pleased with herself. "Right, I think that will be all for today."

* * *

"You okay?" asks Brittany as they pull up outside The Hideaway.

"Of course," replies Santana reflexively. Brittany shoots her a dubious look and makes no move to leave the car.

"Are you sure?" she says, "Because I tried to talk to you about three times on the way here and you didn't even look at me."

A flush creeps up Santana's neck and she gives Brittany an apologetic smile. "Sorry," she says awkwardly. "I was just thinking about the case." Mainly true. Brittany herself may have entered her thoughts a couple of times too.

Brittany frowns. "Oh. What about it?"

"Nothing specific," says Santana with a shrug.

"Okay," Brittany replies blandly. She looks away and opens the door. Santana scrambles to follow her. She feels strangely guilty without really understanding why.

Not really sure what to say to wipe the expressionless look from Brittany's face, Santana instead takes in the sight before her. They're on the outskirts of town now so there has been an obvious decline in wealth. It's very apparent from the ramshackle building before her. The 'e' and the 'y' are missing from the sign, but Santana is confident it's supposed to be 'The Hideaway'. As far as she's concerned, they should have done a better job of hiding it away because it doesn't really seem fit for the general public. A faint sound of saxophone music drifts out into the strangely desolate area and Santana grimaces.

"I think they spelt it wrong," says Brittany, cocking her head to the side thoughtfully and eyeing the sign.

Santana makes a small noise of agreement. She takes a deep breath and puts her best foot forward through the door. The first thing she notes is the heavy stench of smoke. Beside her, Brittany shoots her an unhappy look that Santana almost doesn't see because of the low lighting. Her eyes adjust quickly and she gestures towards the bar. If she's getting some information on the locals, the bartender is probably the best place to start.

"I feel like I've stepped into a speakeasy," Santana says in a low voice. Brittany shoots her a puzzled look but nods anyway.

They sit down and Santana orders them a couple of beers. She knows Brittany isn't going to drink it, but asking for a wine cooler in this place isn't going to do her any favours. They're already getting a few suspicious glances thrown their way and while she's used to it, she can see Brittany shifting uncomfortably on the overly high stool.

It's still early evening, so the bar isn't as full of degenerates as she imagines it will be come sundown. She has to admit though, the guy playing the yellowing piano is pretty good, even if this is far from her type of music. Beside her, she can see Brittany begin to tap her foot in time with the beat. Maybe it's the dancer in her, Santana thinks idly.

The barman returns with their drinks and raises a hand to stroke his stubble thoughtfully. "Haven't seen you two ladies around," he says.

"We're just passing through," says Santana with a shrug. Brittany side eyes her but thankfully says nothing. Santana probably should have warned her beforehand that their FBI cover isn't going to fly in this place. If anything, using that would most likely get them less information than help them in their investigation. People in these kinds of places tend to distrust law enforcement.

"Not really dressed for this sort of place," the man observes, eyeing Santana's business suit. He sounds genial enough, but Santana can here the faint twang of suspicion on his voice.

"We've just come from a business meeting," says Brittany with an innocent smile; if Santana didn't know otherwise, she might even believe her. "It was kinda boring though…" Brittany adds. "So I thought we could stop for a drink."

The bartender smiles in response and gives a knowing nod of his head while Santana conceals a look of admiration.

"I like the piano guy," Brittany continues, gesturing to the bespectacled man in the corner.

"Brad is a fan favourite," says the bartender in agreement.

"You get quite a few regulars in here, I guess," says Santana in as offhand a voice as she can manage.

"If I lived around here I'd totally be a regular," says Brittany with a genial smile on her face. Maybe it's Brittany who should be teaching Santana a few things instead of the other way around. Her own lies don't sound nearly quite so convincing.

"Almost all of my customers are regulars," the bartender replies. "Don't get many out of towners."

"You wouldn't have got us either," says Santana, "Only a friend of ours mentioned this place once." She shrugs. "When we spotted the sign we thought we'd check it out."

"He loved this place," says Brittany sadly. She takes a sip of her beer and Santana can see her trying to fight off a look of repulsion at the taste.

"Loved?" the man questions.

"Yeah," replies Brittany. She hangs her head and Santana places a comforting hand on her shoulder. She's only half acting too; Brittany looks so sad that Santana has a bizarre and overwhelming desire to comfort her. "He died a couple of weeks ago."

The bartenders face morphs into one of understanding. "Azimio? Or was it Bryan?"

Suppressing a grin of triumph, Santana nods. "Azimio."

"Not a bad guy," said the bartender with a nod. There's something a little subdued about his tone; it suggests he's not entirely being truthful.

"He wasn't the easiest guy to get along with," says Santana, "But you know…we've been friends since high school."

There's a pause as the bartender seems to take stock of who is around the bar. "Yeah. He and Bryan didn't really talk much, but still." He shrugs. "We feel the loss of our own."

Santana resists the urge to roll her eyes, because…whatever. The important thing to focus on is that she was right and this place, for whatever reason, is the source of the mysterious ghost activity. She looks around and to be honest isn't at all surprised. Everyone is so focused on nursing their own drinks that she could probably commit murder in a darkened corner and nobody would even look up. She suspects many a dark deed has taken place in this hovel. Downing half her bottle of beer, Santana's eye is drawn to a large painting in pride of place behind a small stage.

She puts down her drink and taps Brittany's leg surreptitiously. Her head swivels around as she tracks Santana's eye line and tilts her head curiously.

"That's Frank Hartman," says the bartender. He's holding up a glass and making it steadily filthier by rubbing it with the cloth from around his neck.

"Is that so," asks Santana with interest. Her eyes are drawn to bronze plaque beneath the painting; it shows the date of birth and date of death.

"He used to play here," says the barman. "You know…back in the day; Prohibition time and all that."

Santana nods her head slowly. "What did he do to earn himself pride of place on the wall?"

"Guy was seriously dedicated," says the bartender with a rather grim smile. "Played here until the day he died."

Brittany's eyes shine with sudden interest and she looks over to Santana for confirmation. Santana nods a little and Brittany looks absurdly pleased with herself that she's figured it out all by herself.

"Died fairly young," Santana observes. The bartender makes a noncommittal noise and turns his head to greet another customer who's just walked through the door.

Santana picks up her beer again and almost chokes on the liquid when Brittany leans over to whisper in her ear. "Do you think it's him, Santana?" she asks quietly. Her breath tickles Santana's ear and she shivers a little.

"Maybe," replies Santana in a low voice.

"Only maybe?" says Brittany, her lips forming a pout.

Chuckling, Santana nods her head. "It's probably him but we need to do a bit of research first. Trust me, getting the wrong guy is the biggest pain in the ass known to man. Having to dig up more than one grave? Fucking _nightmare_."

There's a pause as Brittany's eyes drop down to the counter in front of them. "I wish there was a different way we could do it," she says softly.

Santana really isn't sure what to say about that. Objectively, she knows that not caring about burning someone's remains probably says some less than complimentary things about herself, but she just can't bring herself to well…care much.

"A less exhausting way would be nice," Santana replies finally. She knows it isn't what Brittany meant, and based on the miserable look Brittany gives her, she knows that Santana knows that. Thankfully, she remains silent and instead takes another sip of beer.

"That's just gross," she says, almost spitting the substance out. Santana snorts and smiles. "How can you drink that stuff?"

"When you live off stolen credit cards and money won from hustling pool you can't really afford to whip out the Cristal as a post-hunt celebration," says Santana seriously.

"Why would you drink gemstones?" asks Brittany in confusion.

Forcing a smile down, Santana raises an eyebrow. "Is that not what the filthy stinking rich do these days? I'm not sure…"

"Oh," says Brittany with sudden understanding. "I guess they do, maybe? I know some people drink bits of gold."

Santana pulls a face. "_Why_?"

"I don't know," replies Brittany with a shrug. "They're crazy?"

"Totally," Santana agrees.

* * *

"Santana?"

She raises a silencing finger and continues to skim read an aged document from the well lit library archives. She's pretty sure she's got this all figured out now; just needs a little confirmation.

"_Santana_," Brittany whines. This is the fifth time Brittany has said her name in the last two minutes and Santana can feel her patience waning.

"What, Brittany?" Santana snaps. She puts the papers down with more force than is strictly necessary and gives Brittany a hard look. "I'm trying to work."

"Sorry," says Brittany, flinching. She lowers her eyes and begins to fiddle with one of the buttons on her shirt. "It doesn't matter."

Santana sighs gives Brittany an apologetic look. "Sorry. What is it, Britt?"

"It doesn't matter," says Brittany sadly. "You're busy."

And doesn't that just make Santana feel terrible. "No, really. Tell me." Brittany shakes her head, chewing on her bottom lip. "Please?"

"It really doesn't matter," says Brittany softly. "It's just…you haven't said anything in almost an hour. I don't…what's going on? Did you find it?"

"Oh," says Santana guiltily. "Sorry, Britts. I'm not used to having someone around to explain these things too."

"That's okay," says Brittany with a small smile.

"No, it's…Really. I'm sorry. I'll try harder," says Santana insistently. Brittany's smile widens and she nods. "Here," says Santana, passing her the paper she's holding.

Brittany squints and scans the page. "It's…the guy from the painting at the bar?"

"Yep," says Santana with an encouraging smile. "Look at the cause of death."

It takes her a minute or so, but eventually Brittany finds the bit Santana is referencing. "Um…lung…cancer?" says Brittany, her voice questioning. "So we have the right guy?"

"We totally do," Santana confirms. "We're geniuses."

Brittany shoots her an unsure smile. "You're a genius," she corrects.

"We both are," Santana persists. "I would have never got that guy in the bar talking to me like you did."

"I was pretty good," says Brittany with a nod.

"You are awesome," says Santana. She's not quite sure where this lack of confidence from Brittany has come from but she doesn't like it at all. "You looked so sad that I wanted to give you a hug or something."

A sly smile crosses Brittany's face. "You could have done," she says. Santana feels heat rise to her cheeks and she clears her throat. "I wouldn't have minded."

"Yeah," says Santana uncomfortably. "I um…didn't want to overdo it."

Brittany's eyes twinkle merrily. "Yeah. That would have been silly."

For a moment, Santana loses her train of thought. "Yeah," she says in a strangled voice. "Um…"

Brittany leans back in her chair and suddenly Santana can breathe again. "What next then, boss?" asks Brittany teasingly. Santana lets out a small, nervous laugh.

"We need to find out where the body is buried and torch the bastard," Santana replies.

Pulling a face, Brittany glances down at the document once more. "Not everyone is buried though," she says thoughtfully. "What happens then?"

"I…We have problems, is what happens then," replies Santana, unsure as to where Brittany is going with this line of questioning.

"Oh," says Brittany, her face falling.

Santana sighs in realisation. "Body was cremated, wasn't it?"

Brittany nods apologetically.

"Well that's just fucking perfect," says Santana, earning herself a loud shushing from the passing librarian. "Back off, grandma!" Santana snaps, turning her head and glaring.

The grey haired woman looks affronted and peers sternly at the two girls over her half-moon glasses. "Out," she demands.

"Wait–"

"Get out of my library at once!"

"I just need to–"

The woman begins to flap her hands in a way that reminds Santana of a dying pigeon she once saw and Brittany looks alarmed. "I will not be disrespected in my own library! Leave!"

"All right! Christ. We're going," says Santana, holding up her hands in a defensive gesture.

Brittany giggles as the librarian shrieks in dismay and grabs Santana's hand as the two flee from the cries of 'blaspheme!' that follows them out the exit.

"Santana," Brittany admonishes her as they break out into the dark street. "That was bad."

Santana would reply but she's far to distracted by the long fingers wrapped around her own. Instead, she smiles thinly and shrugs her shoulders.

"How are we going to find out where to go now?" asks Brittany, raising a questioning eyebrow.

With a glance at her watch Santana lets out a long breath of air. "It doesn't matter anyway. It's getting late. We should get some dinner and call it a day."

"What?" asks Brittany with confusion. She releases Santana's hand and coldness spreads through Santana's arm. "But…What if the ghost gets someone else while we're sleeping?"

Santana blinks. "Britt…we can't keep going all day," she says in her most reasonable voice.

Brittany pouts. "But what if people get hurt?"

"People are always going to get hurt," Santana points out. "We can't work ourselves to death. We need to be at the top of our game to do this job, Britt. It's too hard…too dangerous. Being tired slows the reflexes and the mind." She looks away. "Trust me on this. I know."

"But–"

"We can't help anybody if we're dead," Santana interrupts firmly. Brittany folds her arms across her chest and kicks her foot gently against the floor. "Brittany," says Santana carefully, "I know it's hard…but this job is difficult enough when you're at a hundred percent. It's suicide to try otherwise."

Brittany sighs. "Okay. I get it."

Her sadness is unbearable and Santana feels herself unwillingly look around to find something…anything that she can cheer her friend up with. It's already pretty dark outside but Santana isn't hungry yet so dinner isn't really at the top of her agenda. They just need something to pass the time and maybe take Brittany's mind off what they aren't doing. Honestly, Santana had had the same problem when she'd first started hunting with her father so she actually knows how Brittany feels in this instance. After an incident with a demon, were Santana was so exhausted that she very almost managed to get herself as well as her father killed, she knows better.

"Are you hungry yet?" asks Santana after a moment. Just because she isn't doesn't mean Brittany isn't. For a second, Santana mentally pats herself on the back for thinking about someone other than herself. It's kind of an effort after being alone for so long.

"No," replies Brittany, still sounding a little despondent.

"Me neither," Santana clarifies. "You wanna go for a walk or something? I saw a park when we were driving over here."

If she'd been on her own, Santana would just get some take-out and go back to the roach motel, but the way Brittany's eyes light up makes the change in her plans totally worth it.

"I bet there's some swings in there somewhere," Santana adds.

"I love swings," Brittany gushes. She grabs hold of Santana's hand and begins to drag her over to where the car is parked. In her amusement, Santana doesn't even notice that they're being watched.

* * *

**Author's Note(s):** Thanks for reading! :-) And I know I'm a little early but I hope everyone has a Happy Next Year!


	5. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Glee or the world in which this story is based.

**Author's Note(s): **Hi, all! Sorry it's taken me so long to update this. I'm like…kind of on holiday right now though and internet access is scarce. I shall do what I can but I'm away for the next two weeks so I make no promises. So anyway, as always thank you so much to the people who are reading and reviewing and favourite-ing and all that other good stuff. I hope you enjoy the next chapter :-)

**No Rest for the Wicked  
**_Chapter 3_

Santana pulls up outside the small wooded area and gives Brittany a quick grin. For her part, Brittany looks a little dubious as she opens the car door and walks around to where Santana is already standing with her fingers tapping impatiently against the bonnet.

"What's wrong?" asks Santana, her heart sinking a little as she realises her plan to cheer up Brittany isn't working.

"Nothing," replies Brittany quickly. Santana raises an eyebrow and folds her arms. "Okay, it's just…it's kinda dark," says Brittany quietly.

"You're scared of the dark?" asks Santana in confusion. She feels like she'd have noticed something like this by now.

"I'm not scared of the dark," Brittany protests. "Not anymore anyway…"

"So what is it then?" says Santana, glancing once more back into the murky woodlands before them that she knows will lead them to those swings she desperately hopes will make Brittany happy again.

"I'm not scared of the dark," Brittany reiterates, following Santana's gaze, "I'm a little scared of what might be hiding in it."

A grin curls the corner of Santana's lips and she unsuccessfully tries to force it down. A little laugh escapes and Brittany drops her head with a pout. "Come on, Brittany. _Nothing_ in that park is scarier than me."

"You're not scary," Brittany mumbles and Santana's smile fades.

"What do you think is going to happen? I hunt _vampires_ for a living," says Santana, placing delicate stress on the word. "I'm pretty sure I can take Bambi and whoever else might be hiding behind one of those trees."

Looking deeply unhappy by the prospect, Brittany shakes her head a little and Santana sighs.

"Come on, you big baby," she says. "I'm going in whether you come with me or not."

Brittany looks alarmed as Santana pushes herself forward from the car and begins her leisurely stroll into nature. Fact is, there's a freaking pathway decorated with little lantern looking thingies (Santana isn't quite sure what they are) and it isn't even that dark inside. She's driven all this way and she's damn well going to enjoy it now.

She's walking for a full two minutes without Brittany by her side before she realises this may not have been her best idea. Nevertheless, she refuses to look back to see if Brittany is anywhere in sight and continues to trundle on, ignoring the screeching sound somewhere far off to her left that she recognises as a fox. It's not like she can turn around and go back now anyway. She's making a point, damn it. Now, if only she can remember what point it is she's trying to make.

Eventually, she hears the pounding of feet behind her and she grows a self-satisfied smirk. It's only been a few weeks, but she recognises her tracker's gait anywhere. Plus, Brittany is still wearing her heels, which is a dead give away. Brittany quickly draws level with her and shoots her a rather annoyed glance before focussing her gaze forward and falling in step.

"I thought you were waiting by the car," says Santana smugly.

Brittany doesn't respond and Santana almost begins to feel a little bad. The idea of coming here was to make Brittany feel better and if anything, Santana is pretty sure she's made her friend feel significantly worse.

"I don't think it's much further," Santana then says weakly, even though she doesn't know if it's true or not. Once more, Brittany fails to respond and the tension rises. Santana's shoulders slump and she sighs. She knows how she can fix this, but she's Santana Lopez and Lopez's do _not_ apologise.

A twig snaps somewhere behind them and Brittany jumps and spins around, her eyes widening with fear.

"It's just an animal," says Santana in what she hopes is a reassuring voice. "And even if it wasn't, I have my favourite Smith and Wesson five-hundred on me."

Despite her apparent reluctance to engage with Santana, Brittany side eyes her thoughtfully. Her gaze trails from Santana's tight fitting blouse down to the pencil skirt and finally down to her heeled shoes. "Where?" she asks blandly. Santana grins and doesn't answer.

They've been walking for another five minutes when Santana becomes aware of the faint sound of purposely concealed footsteps behind them. Five years of doing this kind of job and she's well versed in the art of sneaking around and tailing people, and what she's learnt in that time is that people don't walk that quietly unless it's intentional. She's also learnt by this point to follow her instincts, and the hairs on the back of her neck are beginning to prickle. Someone is following them and Brittany had been right all along. Santana mentally curses herself. It won't be something she can't handle, but she's not quite sure if she's going to be able to keep Brittany safe if it comes down to it. The thought nauseates her and she forces herself to push it to one side.

Santana subtly reaches over and clasps Brittany's hand in her own. "Brittany, I need to tell you something," she says tentatively. Brittany looks at her with a curious expression on her face and the hint of a smile that Santana doesn't quite understand. "You're not gonna like it though." The smile vanishes.

"What's up?" says Brittany, mimicking her hushed tone. The footsteps grow closer and Santana dimly notes that there are two sets of them. For fucks sake…

"We're being followed," replies Santana dryly. Outwardly, Brittany doesn't react, but she squeezes Santana's hand to the point were it becomes painful. "It's probably nothing," Santana lies, because it's _never_ nothing. "If it isn't though I want you to stay behind me, okay? I got this."

"Are you sure?" Brittany whispers. Santana can tell she really wants to turn around and look for herself. The footsteps are getting closer now and gaining in speed so Santana nods her head.

"There's two people behind us," Santana clarifies. "Men, I think."

"How can you tell?" asks Brittany nervously. Santana can see she doesn't really want to know, she's just trying to cover her terror.

"The footfall is heavier than it would be if it were a woman," Santana explains. "Well," she then adds thoughtfully, "It could be a couple of fatties with really big feet but I don't think–"

"_Santana_," Brittany interrupts her fearfully.

"Keep calm," Santana says. "We're going to be fine. I promise."

They keep walking hand in hand and Santana only has to put in a little extra effort to pay attention to her surroundings this time. She's thankful that holding Brittany's hand has become more 'a little distracting' and less 'completely paralyzing'. She doesn't think she'll be hunting for very much longer if she allows her attention to wander every single time Brittany is stood too close to her. Not to mention how utterly embarrassing it is that she's allowing herself to be so taken in by a girl she barely knows. She's eternally grateful that nobody she's acquainted with can see her now.

She hears a sharp click of somebody's fingers and knows instantly that it's their assailants signal to attack. She releases Brittany's hand and shoves her off the path and spins around just in time to catch a large, muscled arm headed her way at breakneck speed. She pulls as hard as she can in an attempt to knock her assailant off balance but he's too grounded for her to budge.

A deep male chuckle causes anger to rise in her and Santana lashes out, kicking the back of the man's knees, making him stumble forward. This would be a lot easier if she was dressed more appropriately. She briefly glances to the side and feels a thrill of horror at the sight of Brittany wrestling with some freakishly tall dude just metres in front of her. Her attacker takes advantage of her distraction and without understanding how it happens, Santana trips. As she falls, she kicks out once more and this time successfully brings the guy down with her.

Santana slams the man's shoulders down on the ground and presses her whole bodyweight forward. The man laughs and Santana feels a surge of annoyance accompanying her recognition through the dark.

"Jeez, Lopez," he says. "If you wanted to be on top this badly all you had to do was ask."

"I'm always on top, Puckerman," Santana snaps. She glances over to where Brittany is still wrestling with Finn and rolls off Puck and jumps to her feet. "Hudson!" she yells. "Get your grubby hands off her now before I surgically remove them!"

The two freeze and slowly, Finn releases Brittany from the half nelson he's holding her in. When he turns to look at her, a wide grin spreads across his face.

"Santana!"

"Yeah, Finnocence. It's me," she says with a disparaging shake of her head. Brittany is looking dubiously between Santana and the two bulky men and Santana smiles weakly at her.

"I'm sorry I hurt you," Finn says to Brittany. He sounds so earnest that Brittany nods, but she still scampers back over to Santana and wraps one of her hands around her arm.

"You okay?" Santana says under her breath and Brittany nods.

Santana sighs. The last time she went on a hunt with these two tools, they almost got her killed. Under no circumstance will she ever playing the role of 'bait' again, no matter how obvious a plan of attack it seems to be. She'd been stuck in that tiny cage for two whole days before they'd got their heads together and rescued her. Not that they'd rescued her so much as bumbled in then needed rescuing themselves. Puck and Finn aren't great at the whole planning thing before running in all guns blazing. Honestly, she's surprised they haven't been killed yet.

"What the fuck are you doing? Why the hell did you attack me!" she demands, bringing her mind back to the present. "I could have shot you!"

Puck shrugs, a cocky smirk on his face. Finn on the other hand just looks confused. "For shits and giggles, Lopez. You should have seen your face."

"Sorry," says Finn, morosely. "Puck told me you were witches."

Santana's mouth dropped open in bewilderment. "And you _believed_ him?"

"Well…"

"You're such an asshole," Santana bites angrily. Puck still looks like he just told the best joke in the world and Santana kind of wants to punch him square in the face. What if Finn had hurt Brittany? This isn't even how you kill witches!

"So," says Puck with a lecherous smirk, "Who's your friend?" Santana glares at him as he obviously enjoys the view of Brittany in her business attire.

"I'm Brittany," comes the relieved but still rather shaken reply. "I'm Santana's partner at like…hunting now."

A stunned silence follows this statement, and then Puck bursts into loud laughter. Santana almost lunges for him but Brittany is holding her back. Finn looks at her with confusion.

"But you hate working with other people," he says. It isn't a question, but it definitely sounds like one.

Santana folds her arms defensively while Brittany remains silent. "No, I hate working with _you_ douche bags. You fuckwits are incompetent and annoy the hell out of me."

Puck places a hand over his heart. "You're breaking my heart, Santana. We've had some really special times."

There's a retort on Santana's tongue when Brittany squeezes her arm lightly and raises an eyebrow in question. "Brittany, this is Noah Puckerman." Puck raises his hand into a salute. "And Finn Hudson." Finn shoots Brittany a goofy smile. "I've worked with them a few times."

Brittany's mouth morphs into an 'o' shape and stares at the two men consideringly. She probably wasn't expecting to meet other hunters quite so soon. Frankly, neither was Santana.

"So we partnering up on this then, Lopez?" says Puck when Brittany remains silent. "I take it we're here for the same thing?"

"Lung cancer ghost deaths?" says Santana. Finn frowns in bewilderment; obviously Puck hasn't filled him in on those particular details yet. When Puck nods, she catches hold of Brittany's wrist and pulls her away in the opposite direction.

"What do you wanna do, Britt?" Santana asks once they're out of Puck's earshot. "Do you want to stay here or do you wanna move on and leave these goons to it?"

Brittany stares at her blankly, and Santana takes this as a sign that she's contemplating her options. Eventually, she says, "I want to stay here. Will we be safe with them though?"

With a wry smile, Santana nods her head. "They might be idiots, but they're loyal idiots. They won't do anything to intentionally put us in danger."

"Okay then," says Brittany trustingly. "As long as you don't mind staying."

"Nah," says Santana, shooting a brief glance back at Puck, who is staring at her with a raised eyebrow. "They could probably do with someone to baby sit them through this anyway." Brittany smiles.

* * *

"You know," says Puck through a mouthful of burger, "you'd think I'd get tired of eating these all the time. But no."

Santana suppresses an overwhelming wave of disgust as she watches bits of meat fall from his mouth and pushes away her own plate of greasy looking pasta. A light giggle escapes Brittany's mouth as she picks up another handful of fries. Much to Santana's displeasure, they're back in the diner that the two women had eaten breakfast in.

"Me neither," agrees Finn. He frowns. "I wish they had better condiments here though. I don't even know what this is supposed to be. The packet just says 'Sauce'…"

"Life just isn't fair, is it?" Santana remarks coldly. She's already beginning to have serious doubts about her agreement to this 'team'…and it has nothing to do with the lecherous glances Finn keeps sending Brittany's way.

"Wow," says Puck with a smirk, "What's got your panties in a twist?" He fixes Santana with a rather amused stare.

"Nothing has 'got my panties in a twist'." Santana rolls her eyes. "I'm just trying to think what our next move is going to be. If our ghost boy was cremated then it makes things a bit more difficult."

"Oh," said Puck with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Don't worry about that. I got it sorted."

Both Santana and Finn frown while Brittany watches with interest. "You got it sorted?" Santana repeats faintly.

"Totally," replies Puck. "We were in the library researching it when you two naughty girls got yourself kicked out." He gives Brittany a salacious wink and Santana has to once more resist the urge to slap him hard across the face.

"I thought we were looking for witches," Finn mutters unhappily.

"Anyway," Puck continues, "I commandeered your research materials and just took it a step further while you two were playing Scooby Doo in the park."

Choosing to ignore his insulting remarks, Santana nods her head slowly. "That explains how you knew where we where at least." It had been bothering her but she hadn't wanted to actually ask him. If she's honest, she'd rather talk to Puck the least amount possible.

Puck makes a noise of agreement. "Anyway, there's some fancy shindig going on in that big white museum thing in the middle of town."

"We saw it," says Brittany with excitement.

"Right," says Puck with another smirk. "Well anyway, it just so happens that one of the areas in said museum focuses on the prohibition and local history. Its feature piece of history is a trumpet. A trumpet that belonged to our ghostly Frank Hartman."

"Wait," says Brittany before Santana can respond. "Ghosts can attach to items? I don't get it."

"Yeah," says Finn, finally dragging his attention from his food. "Spirits can connect to personal items and stuff sometimes. Nobody really understands it though. It just happens.

"Once, me and Puck had a case where the little girl ghost was being kept around by a doll in her family's crypt were they'd used the girls real hair for the doll." Finn visibly shivers. "That was really creepy. I felt like it was watching me as we burnt it."

Brittany nods, looking a little perturbed. "So how are we going to get this trumpet then?"

"Ah," says Puck, looking absurdly pleased with himself. "Now you leave that part to me."

"What are you going to do?" asks Santana as she narrows her eyes suspiciously.

"I'm going to get us tickets to that party is what I'm going to do," says Puck. "It'll be easier than stealing it during the day."

"Will it," says Santana tonelessly.

Puck winks at her. "You two ladies better hit the shops. I need my arm candy at the top of her game."

The idea of playing dress-up is not an appealing one as far as Santana is concerned. She's never been able to pull off that graceful lady of world type look and she doesn't see why they can't just break in and steal it like they'd normally do. She opens her mouth to tell Puck just that but then the look on Brittany's face stops her short.

"We're going shopping?" asks Brittany, her eyes lighting up. "And we can look around the museum too?"

Santana's heart sinks a little. She knows she can't possibly deny Brittany this. Face morphing into an unwilling smile, Santana nods at her. "I guess we are, Britt-Britt," she says in a rather strangled voice. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Puck studying her with interest.

Brittany bounces a little in her seat. "I'm gonna look awesome. And so are you."

"Obviously," says Santana with a small laugh.

* * *

As much as she was loath to admit it, the next day Santana had a really great time shopping for dresses and accessories with Brittany. God knows being girly hasn't been her thing since her mother…died. She's never had the need or the opportunity…unless Junior Prom in high school counts. But there's something about trying on expensive ballroom gowns that makes her feel just a little bit like a princess. It almost makes her feel like she doesn't spend her life bouncing from nightmare to nightmare. She pushes down those thoughts, of course, but it still lingers in the back of her mind. Watching Brittany try on countless dresses of varying lengths and necklines isn't exactly what Santana would call a hardship either even if she has to spend most of her time suppressing certain urges lest she go insane.

In the end, the two women had decided to go there separate ways for an hour to buy their dresses because Brittany got it into her head that she desperately wanted it to be a surprise. Santana's not usually a big fan of the ridiculous 'let's split up' mentality because in her line of work, that's when people tend to get killed. The number of horror films she's seen where death could have been avoided by _not_ splitting up makes her angry to think about. But splitting up to shop for a little while seemed relatively harmless and even if she'd been more reluctant Santana doesn't think she'd have stood much of a chance resisting those puppy dog eyes Brittany was throwing her way anyhow.

In the end, Santana had picked up a little red number and paid for it with one of her fake credit cards. She doesn't even want to think about how pissed off her father would be if he could see how much she'd spend on a single item of clothing.

Santana smiles a little as she remembers the look on Brittany's face when they'd met back up later on. She's never met anyone who can take such joy out of such small things before.

Right now, Santana is once again alone and waiting for Puck who is, of course, fifteen minutes late. Brittany had decided that the dress she'd bought wouldn't be a surprise at all if they'd go ready together so she'd insisted that Finn pick her up so she could get dressed in the boys' motel a couple of miles down the road. As Finn is her actual 'date' for the event, Santana doesn't think Brittany quite understands who it is she's supposed to be surprising with her outfit. She lets it go as a sharp rapping noise jolts her out of her musings.

She checks her appearance in the mirror one last time before taking in a deep breath and going to greet her supposed _date_.

When Santana throws open the door, Puck does a literal double take. Normally, she'd milk this for all it's worth; she's always enjoyed the power she holds over men. For some reason, she just doesn't feel like another night of meaningless sex with Puck. She tries not to think about it too hard, but she knows she'd much rather just hang out with Brittany.

"You look hot, Lopez," says Puck, holding out his arm for her to take. Santana ignores it and strolls straight past him and towards her car.

"Well duh," she throws behind her. The sound of crunching gravel lets her know that he's rushing to follow her.

Fact is that Puck isn't looking so bad himself. He scrubs up surprisingly well. Santana decides to keep this to herself though because Puck's ego is big enough as it is. He probably already knows anyway.

He rushes ahead of her and opens the door to his black Range Rover. "After you milady," he says with a gallant bow. Santana rolls her eyes at him but hands him her purse so she can slide into the passenger seat more easily. He slams the door behind her and all but skips around the car.

"Ready to hit the road?" he asks, inserting the key into the ignition.

"Just go, Puck," replies Santana with exasperation. "I don't trust Finnocence to keep Brittany in one piece for any length of time if they get there before us."

She looks out the window and doesn't notice the grin that crosses Puck's face.

"She your girlfriend then?" he asks, voice nonchalant.

"No," she snaps. A sparkle of amusement appears in his eyes and he looks at her slyly.

"But you want her to be," he observes.

Santana shoots him a glare. She's not that obvious, is she? "Don't be ridiculous," she says. "She's just my friend."

"Does that mean she's fair game?" Puck asks innocently.

Santana's stomach twists and she fights back the urge to take a swing for his stupid mohawked face. Instead, she shrugs her shoulders stiffly. "You can try."

Much to her intense anger, Puck begins to laugh. "Wow. You really like this chick, don't you?"

"I do not!" Santana protests angrily. Annoyingly, Puck's laughter becomes louder.

"Whatever you say, Lopez."

Resisting the urge to huff, Santana folds her arms and goes back to staring out the window. At several points during the journey, Puck tries to engage her in conversation but Santana really doesn't feel like chatting with him. She's just not in the mood for his thinly veiled innuendos and suggestions tonight and she knows there'll be a lot of them. He's practically drooling over her. Frankly, she just wishes he'd pay more attention to the road.

Deep down, Santana knows that under all that bravado Puck is a good guy. She brings this knowledge to the forefront of her mind in an attempt to quell some of her annoyance with him. At the end of the day he hasn't really done anything wrong. Not yet anyway. Well…apart from that irritating wink and tap of his nose he keeps giving her when she asks him how he's scored the tickets to this gala…or event…or party…or whatever the hell it is. Either way, Santana knows by the end of the night he'll have done something to epically piss her off so she might as well cool her jets for the time being.

She reaches over and switches on the radio for the rest of what turns out to be quite a long journey.

* * *

**Author's Note(s): **And thus the introduction of New Directions members begins.

In other thoughts, I don't know if I've mentioned it before but my Tumblr account…which I don't use very often to actually post…is cognitivism dot tumblr dot com so if anyone has any questions or anything I log into that account more than this one.

Thank you for reading :-)


	6. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Glee or the world in which this story is based.

**Author's Note(s): **Yay I'm back! And with a new chapter :-) I wasn't going to post it quite so soon but in light of recent spoilers I got excited and decided to polish it off now. So thanks to everyone who has been reading and to the people who reviewed while I was away. They were very nice to come home to!

**No Rest for the Wicked  
**_Chapter 4_

"All right," says Puck, as they pull up outside the museum finally. "You remember the plan?"

Santana sighs. "The plan is that we have no plan."

"Good," says Puck with a self-satisfied smile.

"And by the way, this car is totally conspicuous," Santana adds, looking around at the variety of sports cars and limos around them.

"It's night time," he says easily. "The black blends in."

Santana pinches the bridge of her nose and closes her eyes. She can feel the beginning of a migraine. "No, Puck. Really…really no."

"Whatever, Lopez," says Puck's voice. "It's not like we're going to get caught. I'm a _professional_."

"I've heard that before," says Santana darkly. She's heard it before and still has the occasional claustrophobic flashback that came from what happened after he'd said it. There's nothing quite like not being able to physically move more than a couple of inches for almost forty-eight hours to make a girl appreciate the great outdoors.

"Such little faith," replies Puck before getting out of the car. Santana sits firmly where she is and waits for him to open her door; he's her date for the evening and she damn well wants to be treated properly. Let's face it, when is she ever going to get the opportunity to do this again?

"Milady," says Puck when he's finally realised what she's waiting for him to do. He gallantly holds out his arm elbow first and Santana wraps her hand around his bicep and allows him to help her out of the car.

They walk together to the entrance and are stopped by a man in a tuxedo, hand outstretched and eyebrow raised.

"Ticket please, sir," he says sternly. As Puck begins to dig around in his pockets, Santana takes a moment to examine the…well she guesses he's the bouncer. There appears nothing particularly threatening about him, but Santana recognises his stance. He's military trained. It's not going to be easy to get to the trumpet if their security is this high throughout the entire building.

Puck is still searching for his invitation and Santana rolls her eyes at him. "He'd forget his head if it wasn't screwed on," she says to the bouncer with an embarrassed smile. The bouncer smirks at her and Santana can feel his eyes travelling down her body.

"Found it," Puck finally exclaims. He pulls out a crumpled looking piece of card and shows it to the guy.

"Enjoy your evening," he says tonelessly. Santana guesses it must be fairly boring playing guard dog all night.

As soon as they step inside Santana feels the warmth seep into her bones. The foyer is well lit and small groups of well dressed socialites mill around with glasses of champagne resting between their fingers. There's a dull chatter that quietens ever so slightly as Santana and Puck walk further into the room before picking straight back up again as interest in them is lost. It's the kind of place Santana feels instantly uncomfortable in. Logically she's knows it's stupid but she can't help but feel like people know she doesn't belong there just be looking at her.

She pushes back her feelings of discomfort and shifts her mind into hunter mode. There's a flight of marble stairs in the middle of the room guarded by another tuxedo wearing state trooper. That's where they need to get to if they want to find that trumpet.

"Let's find Finn and we'll decide what to do," Puck mutters under his breath. Santana nods and maintains her grip on Puck's arm as he steers her to the main room of the party. Although that might not be the right word, Santana thinks, as there's a lot of boring prattle going on and precious little partying as far as she's concerned.

They navigate their way through crowds of people and somewhere along the way Puck acquires them both a flute glass of what she assumes is some very expensive champagne. Personally, she's never thought champagne was worth the money it costs. Tonight, however, it feels fitting as she and her 'date' attempt to blend in with the local upper crust. She idly wonders if Brittany is enjoying herself so far. After all, as far as Santana is concerned they're only here because Brittany wanted it to happen.

Suddenly, Puck's stride becomes more meaningful and he leads Santana to the bar. What she sees when she gets there makes her heart skip a beat.

Brittany is leaning against the bar giggling at something Finn has just said. Santana swallows as she takes in the long beige gown Brittany is wearing, eyes lingering on her companion's perfect curves.

"You're drooling," says Puck quietly as they approach the couple. Santana instantly closes her mouth and glares at him. She is _so_ not drooling.

"Hey, guys," says Finn as they draw level. He looks at Santana and smiles. "You look nice, Santana."

"Um…thanks," she says, her mouth feeling a little dry. The two men look at her curiously but Santana doesn't even notice. No matter how hard she tries, she can't seem to pull her eyes away from Brittany. So focused as she is on staring, she doesn't even notice that her friend is doing the same to her.

Puck rolls his eyes in amusement and starts talking to Finn about how they're going to get past the guards on the stairs and Brittany takes a couple of steps closer to Santana. She pulls her in for a hug and for a few moments, Santana stops breathing altogether.

"Hey," she whispers in Santana's ear. She shivers lightly.

"Hey, Britts," she replies. "You look um…really good."

Brittany pulls away from her with a dazzling smile on her face. "So do you."

Santana shakes her head. "Not like…no…I mean…." She fumbles over her words. "You look like…beautiful."

A light blush appears on Brittany's cheeks and her smile softens ever so slightly. "Thanks, Santana."

Under Brittany's intense gaze, Santana shifts uncomfortably. They're stood so close together she can practically feel the heat radiating from Brittany's body.

A loud clap right next to her ear jolts her back into reality and Santana takes a reflexive step backwards.

"I asked you a question, Lopez," says Puck with a raised eyebrow. "So if you could save the leering for later that would be just peachy."

"Leering?" Santana splutters. Her eyes narrow as once again the urge for violence begins to overtake her. "I swear to God I will rip–"

"Now now," Puck interrupts, holding up his hands in a defensive gesture. "No need to get testy. I just want to know what our plan of action is."

Santana grits her teeth and briefly looks over at Brittany. She smiles weakly at her.

"I think we should just hang back after it closes," suggests Finn. "I don't know how we're going to get past these guards unnoticed otherwise."

Considering this for a moment, Santana shakes her head. "I'm not staying here all night. I was born about six decades too late to be listening to Glenn Miller's greatest hits on loop." She gestures to the old couples who have overtaken the dance floor.

Finn shrugs. "I actually kinda like it," he says.

Before Santana can reply, an elderly gentleman walks over to the bar and orders a whisky and the group fall silent until he leaves. Not the most inconspicuous of actions perhaps, but Santana guesses it was better than continuing their conversation on how best to evade the museum's security system.

"Hunting is more glamorous that I thought it would be," Brittany says idly when the man is out of earshot.

Puck smirks and waggles his eyebrows at her. "If you want, after we're done here, I'll show you glam–"

"All right," says Santana loudly. She does not want to hear what the end of that sentence was going to be. "I have a plan."

Three pairs of interested eyes turn to her and she feels a self-satisfied smirk tug at her lips.

It only takes Santana about a minute to explain her idea to the group. Puck and Finn look a little dubious but Brittany claps her hands together excitedly.

"Are you sure that'll work?" asks Puck.

"Of course not," snaps Santana in return. "It's better than waiting around here for the next eight hours though."

Puck shrugs but holds out his arm for Santana to link. "I guess it's you and me then, honeybunch."

Casting a suspicious look back at Finn, Santana reluctantly nods. She doesn't really want to leave Finn with Brittany when he's staring at her with that look on his face, but she also doesn't want to leave Puck with Brittany. It's kind of a catch-22.

"Good luck," says Brittany with a kind smile.

"You too," replies Santana instantly. She spares Finn a quick glance. "Try not to let him hurt himself."

"I'll try," says Brittany with a giggle. Finn scowls at her, but Santana has seen more menacing puppy dogs than him so she isn't too worried.

"Come on, darling," says Puck formally. "I believe I saw the Campbells in the lobby. Would you care to accompany me?"

"Nothing would make me happier," replies Santana with a fake smile. She shoots Brittany a quick wave as once again she and Puck make a foray into the crowd and try once more to look like they've lived this type of life before. Like Brittany. Brittany definitely looks like she belongs here. If anything, Brittany is too good to be here.

They find their way much quicker this time and soon they're out in the open and in view of the dude guarding the stairs. It's a little emptier than it was before which Santana decides is a good thing. For a couple of minutes, they make idle chitchat and somewhere along the way Santana acquires another glass of champagne.

Puck is in the middle of saying something nonsensical about today's 'economic climate' when Santana drops to the ground. Puck lets out a stream of curse words as he instantly jumps forward to prevent her head from meeting the floor. For dramatic effect she lets her glass slip from her fingers and it rings loudly as it smashes against the marble.

"Sweetie?" says Puck, tapping his fingers against her cheek. She has to admit, his concern is almost believable.

"Is she okay?" asks a deep voice that Santana assumes to be one of the guards. She keeps her eyes closed.

"I dunno," says Puck, letting Santana slip a little from his grasp. She resists the urge to cling to him so he doesn't drop her. "I think maybe my wife had too much to drink."

"Oh. Well–"

"Is there somewhere I can lay her down?" Puck interrupts him. "Until she wakes up." There's an awkward pause and for one very irritating moment Santana is convinced he's going to say no, but the guard must not his head or something because she feels herself being scooped up by two muscled arms and carried up what she can only assume is a flight of stairs. Puck seems to be doing his level best to jostle her as much as possible while doing so. Bastard.

"In here, sir," says the voice.

The icing on the cake arrives when Puck bashes her head into a door frame. She bites on her tongue to prevent a cry of anger from escaping. Puck takes a few more steps forward before throwing her gracelessly onto something soft…ish.

"Thanks, man," says Puck.

"Do you need anything?" asks the man, sounding dubious.

"Nah," said Puck dismissively. "She does this all the time. No stamina." Santana's eyes flash dangerously but she makes no move. "I tell ya, if she didn't have such a good rack I'd have traded her in for an Aston Martin DB9 and a bag of Skittles years ago."

The man makes an audible fumbling noise and Santana is practically itching to get up and break Puck's nose. "Right," says the guard finally. "I'll be back up to check on you in a few minutes."

"Thanks," replies Puck. Santana hears the shuffling of feet and then the quiet click of the door closing. She leaps to her feet and glares at Puck.

"You're such a jackass!" she hisses.

Puck shrugs but is unable to wipe the amused smirk off his face. "Calm down, babe. I was just playing the part. You know I'd need at least two bags of Skittles before I traded you in for a better model."

Santana's hands clench into fists. "You should be so lucky, douche bag. I'm surprised any woman alive is even willing to touch you with that landing-strip on your head."

"I thought you were into that sort of thing," replies Puck. At this point she's sure if she pressed her nails into her palm any harder she'd be drawing blood. Santana closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. _Focus_.

"Shut the fuck up, Puck. We have a job to do," she says angrily.

"Whatever you say, dear."

Pursing her lips, Santana gestures to the door. She guesses they'll have no more than ten minutes before that dude comes back and she doesn't want to be gone when he arrives. They open the door and she peeks out before stepping out into the hall, closely followed by Puck. They'd all checked a map earlier in that day so she knows which way to go and she and Puck walk as softly as they can to the room that holds the trumpet.

"You know," says Puck quietly as they arrive at the 'Local History' room, "I could totally see myself living somewhere like here in ten years time."

Santana snorts. "It's funny that you think you're still gonna be alive in ten years."

"I see someone is in their happy place today," remarks Puck. "Me and Finn are awesome. We're gonna hunt and then when we're old we're gonna retire with two hot blondes and live in a stately home."

"I'll believe it when I see it," says Santana dryly. She pulls a small torch from her sparkly red purse and shines it around the room. Her eyes fall on the trumpet just where the tourist guide had said it would be and she allows herself a small smirk.

"D'ya think Brittany would be down with it?"

"Down with what?" asks Santana absently. She's examining the glass case protecting the trumpet with raised eyebrows.

"Being one of our hot blondes of course," says Puck with a shake of his head. Santana's eyes narrow. "I could get anyone I wanted, let's face it. I mean…have you seen me? Finn though…I think he has a soft spot for your new…_partner_."

"Go to hell, Puck," says Santana darkly. She's not at all amused. "Leave Brittany alone."

"You're being stupid, Lezpez," says Puck, pressing his ear up against the glass for some unknown reason.

"Lezpez? Are you serious right now? Since when were we thirteen?" Santana snaps in reply.

Puck shoots her an amused look and Santana kind of wants to punch his face in. "Just do it," he says. He turns back to the glass casing and pulls some kind of tin device from his pocket. He fixes it onto the side of the keypad that Santana assumes control the alarm system.

"Do what _exactly_?" asks Santana with exasperation.

"You know what! Have your wicked way with her whether she likes it or not," replies Puck as though it's the most obvious thing in the world. Some red numbers and letters flash on the screen of whatever it is Puck's holding.

Santana's mouth drops open. "I am not going to _rape_ Brittany!" she hisses. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"I didn't mean that," Puck protests. "Christ, Lopez. What do you take me for?"

"That's what 'whether she likes it or not' means, dickwad," says Santana shaking her head with disgust.

"Yeah I guess that's kind of illegal in most states," replies Puck with a sigh.

"I think in all of them," Santana corrects him coldly.

"Cool your jets, Santana," says Puck. There's a clicking noise and he looks smugly at the glass case. "I was just kidding."

"Yeah? I guess sexual assault jokes are _always_ funny," says Santana. She shakes her head and takes a deep breath to calm herself down. She doesn't know why she lets Puck get under her skin like this.

Apparently, Puck has lost interest in their conversation however, and is now focusing his attention on slowly lifting the glass case from over the trumpet. Santana can't help but admit to herself that she's a little impressed. She's really interested to know at what point Puck became some sort of high-end cat burglar.

While he removes their prize, Santana takes a moment to read the plaque. _Frank Hartman (1902 – 1930) etc etc_. Her frown deepens the further she reads and she realises with sudden clarity why the victims had been chosen.

"Hey," says Puck, tilting his head and examining the trumpet closely. "I don't wanna sound paranoid or anything but can you like…hear music?"

"What?" replies Santana absentmindedly. "No."

Puck nods. "Just checking."

Santana casts a suspicious glance in his direction as he shoves the trumpet unceremoniously into his comparatively small jacket pocket. "Oh well…that's not conspicuous at all," she remarks.

"We'll have to make a distraction or something," says Puck. "Distract the guards. Unless your purse is bigger on the inside?"

They begin their speedy but silent way back to the original room they'd been in. "Why would my purse be bigger on the inside?" she asks distastefully.

"Mary Poppins' was," replies Puck. His words are light but Santana can see his skin become a little paler. She cocks her head to one side and regards him carefully.

"Are you okay?" she asks.

"Pfft, of course I'm okay," says Puck dismissively. He glances at her out the corner of his eye. "I might be hearing some…odd music that you don't seem to hear but that's like…totally normal right?"

A wicked smile captures Santana's face and she stifles a laugh as they finally reach their destination and slip into the darkened room the guard had left them in. "Oh, Puck. Are you saying you think our ghostie is out to get you?"

"No. Yes. Maybe," says Puck awkwardly. He seats himself on the ornate couch he'd thrown Santana on earlier and rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. "You seriously can't hear that music?"

"'fraid not," replies Santana, not at all sympathetic. "I guess this makes it official then."

"Makes what official?"

"You're a dick."

Puck pulls a face. "What a weird way to kick me when I'm down."

Shrugging, Santana sits down next to him. "I aim to please, but it isn't me making this decision."

"What the hell are you talking about, Lopez? I don't know if you've noticed but I'm literally dying right now!" says Puck.

"It's Hartman's victimology," Santana explains, feeling remarkably smug. "He targets bullies."

"What?" Puck exclaims. "I'm not a bully."

"Well, the spirit world thinks otherwise," Santana disagrees. She thoroughly enjoys the emotions playing across Puck's face as he becomes more and more irate.

"You're just as much a bully as me," he argues.

She shrugs. "Obviously not."

"You're wrong," says Puck. He folds his arms and eyes her darkly. "Why do you suddenly know why he picks his targets?"

"Because I have the ability to _read_," Santana tells him. "Yeah, Hartman died at that stupid bar but it wasn't out of choice. He was forced to play there by his boss until the day he kicked the bucket. Let's face it, it's enough to make anybody wanna go out and murder all the douche bags in the world."

The sour expression on Puck's face is almost comical. It isn't like Santana wants him to die or anything but she read the reports, it'll take at least a couple of days before that cancer sets in and they'll have got rid of their ghost way before then.

"You're a real bitch. You know that right?" says Puck after a moment.

"Just keepin' it real."

Before Puck can reply with what Santana can only imagine will be an utterly hilarious comeback, there's a sharp rap on the door before it swings open to reveal the man who had been guarding the stairs. Slipping back into 'character' easily, Santana smiles shyly at him and his cheeks turn a little pink.

"You're okay now, miss?" he asks, seemingly distracted by her ample cleavage.

"She's fine," says Puck gruffly. "Unfortunately." Santana shoots him a dark look before turning to bat her eyelashes at their visitor.

"I'm okay," she says with a breathy laugh. "I'm diabetic you see. Blood sugar control is a nightmare."

The man nods sympathetically and runs a hand through his thick brown hair. "Of course, miss."

Puck stands up and holds out a hand to her. She takes it and he pulls her roughly to his side; this way she can partially conceal the obvious musical instrument protruding from his pocket. There's definitely no way they're getting out of there without some kind of distraction.

Without prompting the two begin to follow the guard out and back down the impressive set of marble steps and Santana's eyes automatically begin to dart back and forth around the room below them. They need a way out pretty quickly or people are going to start to notice them. Not many dark corners for them to hide in. Obviously Puck seems to feel the same way because he's started muttering under his breath about the faults of not thinking plans through to the end.

They reach the bottom of the stairs and Puck leans casually against the banister in an effort to hide what's in his pocket. Santana knows it's the furthest he can go without being spotted and raising suspicion. She continues to look around until something catches her attention.

It's Brittany. And Finn.

They're _dancing_.

But not the kind of dancing that fits in with the ambience of the room. In fact, the two are getting some rather scandalised looks from a gaggle of pearl necklace wearing middle-aged women watching them from a short distance.

Santana's hands clench into fists and she bites down on her lip. Uh uh. No way.

Finn pulls Brittany in closer with a goofy grin on his face while she continues to dance with reckless abandon. Santana takes an instinctive step forward and grinds her teeth together. No fucking way is she going to let Brittany _actually_ become one of Puck's resident 'hot blondes'. She's too good for that. Too good for Finn and too good for Puck. Too good for hunting. She's too good for…

Santana's thoughts trail off and her pulse begins to race as Finn pulls Brittany ever closer and whispers something in her ear. His hand drops lower and lower until…

"No me gusta!"

She marches over to where Finn and Brittany are gyrating, head held high and shoulders squared. When she reaches them she can't help herself; she shoves Finn as hard as she can and as far away from Brittany as possible.

Brittany spins around, confusion written over her beautiful face. When she spots Santana her bewilderment deepens.

"Back the hell off, Frankenteen!"

Finn regains his footing and his mouth drops open. "Santana? What the hell is your problem!" His voice is so loud that people begin to stop what they're doing to observe them.

"What's my problem?" Santana rages. "My problem is you!"

"Santana?" says Brittany in a quiet voice. Santana spares her a glance.

"Stay out of this, Brittany," she replies firmly. "This is between me and The Incredible Bulk."

"Seriously, man. I dunno what's got your panties in a twist but you need to calm the hell down," says Finn. His whole face has turned an unattractive shade of red and Santana can tell he's itching to push her back.

"Oh, I need to calm down?" Santana repeats. "_I need_ _to_?" She shoves him again, hard. "I think _you_ need to calm the fuck down. What the hell were you even just doing?"

"I don't know what you're talking about!" says Finn. His hands are beginning to shake and Santana wants to slap the incredulous look off his gormless face. Like he doesn't _know_ what he was just doing. "Crazy bitch."

Santana launches herself forward but two long arms quickly wrap themselves around her waist and hold her back. She struggles weakly and the grasp tightens. "I'm a crazy bitch?" she yells. Almost without realising, she slips into Spanish and continues to scream at Finn, who grows more and more bewildered.

"What are you doing?" Finn hisses. "Everyone is looking at us. I don't even speak French!"

Suddenly, the grip around her waist tightens to a painful degree and she feels herself being pulled physically backwards. "Santana," says Brittany's voice warningly.

"That's enough!" shouts a deep voice. Santana clenches her teeth together and meets the eyes of the man she recognises as the entrance guard. "Do I need to call the police here?"

"No," says Finn with a glare.

"That won't be necessary," Santana adds through gritted teeth. She lets out a deep breath and wills her heart to stop pounding.

The man nods and shifts his gaze to Finn. "I think it's time for you to leave."

"Fine," snaps Santana. She shrugs off the arms holding her in place and spins around. Through the blood rushing in her head she barely even notices the sound of clipped heels following behind her hurriedly as she marches from the room, head held high and face of thunder. The disgusted glances being thrown her way by the milling crowd should be annoying her, but she just can't find it in her to care at this point.

The three finally reach the exit and Santana storms outside, relishing the cool night air on her overheated skin. Her head begins to clear and she takes a steadying breath. Okay…so that could probably have gone better. Without saying a word, she leads Finn and Brittany over to the car she arrived in.

Puck observes their arrival with a rather smug smile on his face. "Not bad, Lopez," he says to her. "Not exactly what I had in mind, but not bad."

Santana blinks at him and for a moment says nothing. He thinks…

She sucks in a cold breath. "Yeah. I'm obviously in the wrong profession." She quickly glances at Brittany and Finn. Brittany is shuffling her feet nervously and Finn's confusion, if possible, seems to have deepened. "I should win an Academy Award."

"Wait," he says, his eyebrows lowering in thought. "That was an act?"

"Of course it was," replies Santana with a dismissive wave of her hand. Out the corner of her eye she can see Brittany eyeing her uncomprehendingly. Santana thinks she'd be more believable if her whole body wasn't still shaking with the vestiges of rage.

"I needed a distraction to get out with this," adds Puck. He pulls the trumpet from his pocket with a flourish.

"Put that away!" Santana hisses. "They can still see us." Puck pulls a face but does as she says.

"I don't get it," says Brittany softly. Her cheeks are flushed and she's staring at Santana intently. "You…So you're not really angry?"

"What would I have to be angry about?" she replies coldly. Brittany lowers her gaze and kicks her foot against the harsh gravel.

"I don't know," she says quietly. Something suspiciously like guilt begins to curl in Santana's stomach but she ignores it and focuses her attention on Puck. Finn is still giving her less than surreptitious dirty looks and it's causing her irritation to rise once more.

"Let's get this over with then," she says, gesturing to the instrument. "Don't want you dying of lung cancer in the car."

The colour drains from Puck's face. "Yeah…"

* * *

The journey back to Brittany and Santana's motel room is silent and awkward. Brittany stares at Santana almost the entire way, only to quickly look away when Santana glances back at her. There's a strange look on her face that Santana doesn't like one bit. Though Finn and Puck may have bought her 'distraction' excuse, Brittany doesn't seem quite as willing to believe it. She resists the urge to squirm uncomfortably under the scrutiny. She's no longer used to having to explain her actions to someone.

They salt and burn Frank Hartman's at the back of the motel in a metal bin that Santana retrieves from their room. It takes an inordinately long time but thankfully their ghostie doesn't make an appearance until it's too late for him to actually do anything. The relief on Puck's face is almost comical when the fire finally burns itself out.

"Well," says Finn, clearing his throat awkwardly. He still hasn't quite forgiven Santana for yelling at him even though he thinks she didn't actually mean it. "That was easier than I thought it was going to be."

"Don't complain," replies Santana with a raised eyebrow.

Finn shrugs. "It's just when things seem too good to be true in this job they usually are."

Santana can't really refute that so she keeps her mouth shut.

"I can't hear anymore music so I think we're good," says Puck.

"Great," says Santana shortly. "I guess it's time to part ways then."

If Finn and Puck are surprised with her abruptness, they don't show it. Brittany shoots her an indecipherable look but says nothing, as she hasn't since they left the car park of the museum. It's making Santana deeply uneasy but she keeps her attention on their two male companions.

"Right you are, Lopez," says Puck. He salutes. "Always a pleasure working with you."

Santana rolls her eyes. "Yeah yeah. I'll see you guys around."

"It was nice to meet you, Brittany," says Finn with a smile. Brittany smiles back and nods her head.

"Yeah," Puck adds. "If you ever wanna ditch this one." He jerks his thumb in Santana's direction. "You're more than welcome to join us." He flexes his arm and gestures to his bicep with a wink. "We can take good care of you."

Once more Santana clenches her hands into fists, but Brittany simply smiles and shakes her head. "I'm okay here thanks," she says. Her voice is soft and Santana finds herself instinctively relaxing.

Puck turns his attention to Santana and his mood shifts. "Take care of yourself, yeah?" he says.

Rather taken aback, Santana nods. "I will."

"It's just," Puck begins before hesitating for a moment, "a couple of hunters have fallen off the radar."

Santana frowns. "What do you mean?"

"Karofsky was found dead at his dad's house a couple of months ago. Throat slashed," says Puck solemnly. Santana's stomach drops. He's a bit of a tool sometimes but Santana really likes Dave; he's good at his job and is a decent guy. Or at least he was. "I mean that's not all that weird…he's just one guy. But do you remember Carl Howell?" Santana thinks for a moment. "The dude who looks like John Stamos." She lets out a small chuckle and nods her head. "Yeah, well he's gone too. Same way. Me and Finn went to check it out but we couldn't find anything."

"That's…really weird," says Santana slowly.

"Yeah," says Puck. "And I spoke to Shelby a couple weeks back and she says she's been trying to contact Dustin Goolsby for weeks but he's just fallen off the grid."

Santana makes a small humming noise.

"It might be nothing but just keep an eye out," says Puck urgently.

"I will," she replies with a nod. "You too."

"You know I will," says Puck with a characteristic wink.

It takes another two minutes for the four to say their final goodbyes and with one final salute from Puck, the two men get into their car and drive away leaving Brittany and Santana in an uncomfortable silence. Santana glances at her and swallows nervously. She can feel tension slowly seep into her body.

"So," says Brittany, her voice quiet but steady, "what was that?"

* * *

**Author's Note(s):** Not as much Brittany in this one as there usually is, but I promise she'll be back in full force next chapter. I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter because it was really fun to write. Thanks for reading :-)

P.S. The dress Brittany is wearing is the one HeMo wore at the Golden Globes last year.


	7. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Glee or the world in which this story is based.

**Author's Note(s): **Happy Brittana Kissed Month, one and all! I hope everyone has enjoyed watching it over and over and over again as much as I have :-) Anywho, thank you all so much for reading this fic and thanks for the reviews!

This chapter is again a little shorter than usual; it's just because this was the only natural break before a very long scene. I hope you enjoy!

**No Rest for the Wicked  
**_Chapter 5_

"So," says Brittany, her voice quiet but steady, "what was that?"

"What was what, Brittany?" she replies tiredly. She turns her back and begins a slow walk back to their motel room. Her feet are starting to hurt and she really wants to get out of this dress. Dressing up was fun at first but now she's starting to feel uncomfortable in her own skin.

"You know what I'm talking about," says Brittany. "Back at the museum."

Santana huffs. Why does Brittany even care? "I told you what it was. I was just distracting everyone so Puck could get out with the goods."

Brittany doesn't reply straight away so Santana thinks she's dropped the subject. No such luck of course. She pulls the keycard to their motel room from her purse as they reach their door when Brittany decides to talk again.

"You're lying," she says calmly. Santana pauses and purses her lips. "You were really angry with Finn."

"Why would I be angry with Finn?" Santana replies stiffly. She hears the rustle of Brittany's dress as she shrugs.

"Why don't you tell me?" Brittany's voice lacks its usual warmth.

"For God's sake, Brittany," she exclaims. She spins around, her back to their still closed room door. "I don't know what you're talking about." She pauses between every word like she's talking to someone incredibly dim and Brittany's expression hardens considerably. "Look…I just–"

"Santana, this just isn't going to work if you don't trust me enough to tell me the truth!" Brittany interrupts. Santana's stomach twists and she sucks in a breath.

"Maybe you should leave then."

The words are out before she can stop them but it doesn't stop a hand from flying to her mouth as though to claw them back in. She gulps and her eyes widen.

For her part, Brittany looks stunned and it takes her more than thirty seconds to recover. She furrows her brows slightly and stares into Santana's eyes. "Is that what you want?" she asks in a steady voice.

_No_, Santana's mind screams. _No no no_. Instead, what she croaks is, "Maybe it would be for the best."

"Why?" The word is detached and emotionless.

"Um…" Brittany takes a step forward and looks down at Santana. Their bodies are just centimetres apart and she can feel heat rushing to her face and almost whimpers in frustration. Santana is used to high stress situations but something in the way Brittany is staring at her makes her blood run hot and cold at the same time. Her thoughts are scrambled and she searches for the words but they catch in her throat. "Brittany." Her voice cracks.

"What, Santana?" says Brittany. Santana can feel her breath on her face and she presses her back against the chilled door behind her.

"You're…"

"What?"

"You're too distracting!" Santana snaps out desperately and Brittany's expression morphs into confusion. "How the hell am I supposed to concentrate on _anything_ with you around?"

"I don't–"

"We're going to die, Brittany. We're going to die because when you're around I can't think of anything but you!" Santana breathes heavily and glares at Brittany. "I can't sleep properly knowing you're so close to me. I can't take you into dangerous situations when all I really want to do is lock you in a room and make sure nothing ever hurts you. This isn't going to work for us!"

A variety of emotions play across Brittany's face and with dawning horror Santana realises what she's just revealed. She bites down on her bottom lip and tries to ignore the way terror grips at her throat. Moments pass and Santana's panic rises; she's never been very good at this feelings malarkey.

When Brittany finally does speak, she doesn't say what Santana expects her to. "You were jealous," she says slowly, "of Finn." Her eyes search Santana's face as if looking for answers. "That's why you were so upset earlier."

Santana's head droops a little and she blinks rapidly. There's no two ways about it, Brittany's going to leave her now. Alone in the dark.

"You _like_ me," says Brittany; there's a hint of amusement in her voice and Santana flinches. She chuckles. "Oh, Santana. Don't look so frightened." Her choice of words irks Santana but any thoughts of disagreement escape her mind when Brittany takes a small step forward so their bodies are almost touching. She leans forward and Santana can feel Brittany's lips ghost over her ear. "I like you too," she whispers. "A lot."

"Wait…What?"

This time, Brittany outright laughs at her but Santana barely notices. "You're super cute when you're confused."

Santana opens her mouth to protest this but before she can get a single word out Brittany puts up a finger and presses it to her lips. Brittany raises her eyebrows and Santana nods; her turn to talk is over. Brittany smiles softly and brushes some errant dark hairs out of Santana's face and tucks them behind her ear. Her touch is impossibly soft and it takes every ounce of Santana's willpower not to lean into it. She's not quite sure what's happening but she thinks she likes it.

They stare at each other for a long time before Brittany slowly leans forward and presses her lips to Santana's. Their kiss is soft, almost innocent, and Santana feels a fluttering in her stomach that makes her gasp for breath. Brittany giggles a little against her mouth and pulls away in favour of resting their foreheads together. Somehow they've both forgotten that they're still stood outside a seedy motel in the freezing cold.

"I've wanted to do that ever since I first saw you," Brittany breathes and the feelings Santana has been so desperately trying to ignore rise dramatically to the surface. "Do you even know how hot you look in those suits?" There's a predatory gleam in Brittany's eyes and not for the first time in her presence, Santana feels her entire body flush. "But it's nothing compared to how you look now. Red? Totally your colour."

Brittany's hands find their way to Santana's hips. "Uh…Britt," says Santana, shivering and light pressure of Brittany's fingers trailing up and down her sides. "Just…stop. Please."

Instantly, Brittany snatches her hands away as though they've been burned and her expression morphs into one of muted horror. "Oh God. I'm sorry, Santana. I thought…" She trails off and somehow Brittany's panic makes Santana feel more confident. "I thought you…"

"Britt," Santana cuts her off with a small smile, "I was just going to say we should go inside."

"Oh," says Brittany as she lets out a low breath. "That's okay then."

Santana shoots Brittany one more grin before turning around and letting herself into their shared motel room. She really hopes Brittany doesn't notice the way she fumbles with the key.

As she holds open the door, Brittany saunters in after her and grins. Before Santana can even move, Brittany's hands meet her shoulders and she's slammed backwards into the wall. An embarrassing squeak of indignation escapes Santana's throat at the impact but any thoughts of protest flee her mind as Brittany presses her body forward and attaches her lips to her neck.

Santana groans and lets her head falls back to hit the wall. Brittany chuckles at her and moves lower to lick along Santana's collarbone. It's not until a slender hand begins to travel up her stomach that Santana jolts out of her stupor and moves her own hands from their welded place on Brittany's hips.

"Bed," Santana instructs, pushing roughly against Brittany. The blonde woman holds fast and smirks at her. When the hell did she get so strong? "Brittany!"

"I don't think so, Santana," Brittany says teasingly with a wicked grin. "I think that for tonight, you're going to do what_ I_ say."

Santana gulps; her mind going completely blank as heat shoots through her entire body.

* * *

At first light, Santana reluctantly drags herself from Brittany's warm embrace and pulls on some clothes. She keeps her eyes on her…friend? Travelling companion? She's not quite sure at the moment and one of Brittany's nipples is peeking over the top of the sheets covering the rest of her body so really she can't be blamed for her lack of focus right now. With a fond smile, Santana leans forward and pulls the blanket up a little higher. She hovers for just a moment and resists the urge to brush away hair that has fallen in front of Brittany's face. It feels too intimate.

With a sigh, Santana pulls back and rolls her shoulders. Despite her occupation it's been a long time since she's had such a…work out and her muscles are aching in protest. She feels good though; better than she has in longer than she can remember if she's honest with herself. That's what good sex will do for you, she decides. There's a small feeling of unease lingering in the back of her mind as she gazes at the naked woman in her bed but she pushes it away and chalks it up to a sleepless night. She has bigger concerns right now, which is why she's unhappily pried herself away from the warm body next to her.

After her almost argument with Brittany, what Puck had told her the night before had slipped instantly from her mind. As the night wore on however and Brittany had finally fallen asleep curled into her side just before dawn, Santana's mind wandered to back to Puck's parting words.

Karofsky is dead. _Nobody_ gets the drop on Karofsky.

Santana sits down in front of the flimsy dressing table and starts up her laptop. If nothing else, hunters are vengeful people. It's how most people get into the business of hunting in the first place; trying to avenge lost loved ones. No way is Santana letting the murder of her sort-of friend slide by without at least checking into it herself. Puck and Finn totally suck and just because they didn't find anything, doesn't mean she won't. She's better than them in every possible way, frankly.

As it turns out, home invasions are considered fairly news worthy even when there appears to be no supernatural element and Santana finds news of Karofsky's murder easily. It is, however, incredibly unhelpful and she finds herself becoming more and more frustrated. There aren't even any crime scene photos…okay, she's not sure why she thought there would be, but still. Even if she actively goes there she's sure there won't be anything left for her to find; too much time has passed. She finds reports on Carl Howell's death equally unhelpful.

What she needs is some inside information. There's just no way two identical murders are a coincidence no matter how far apart they were. Too many occurrences have taught Santana that nothing is a coincidence in the world of hunting. She leans back in her uncomfortable chair and considers her options, which if she's honest are few and far between.

"Santana?" says Brittany, her voice groggy from sleep. Santana's breath hitches and she turns her head to look at her companion. "What are you doing?"

"Research," replies Santana, and then before she can stop it, a warm smile crosses her face. Gone is the wildly assertive Brittany from the night before, and in her place is the woman Santana has grown to know and…she clears her throat and shakes her head. Brittany continues to stare at her with a rather bashful look on her face. "How do you feel?" Santana asks, almost afraid to hear the answer.

"I'm good," Brittany reassures her with pink cheeks. She sits up and pulls the blanket up with her so she stays covered and Santana can't prevent her eyes from lowering just a little bit on the off chance she isn't successful. "I um…I thought you might have left."

Santana frowns just a little. Surely out of the two of them Brittany is the most likely to leave? "Nope," says Santana, brushing off her concern with ease. "I wouldn't leave you stranded out here alone." Something about her choice of words obviously doesn't sit right with Brittany, because her eyes cloud over and she grips more tightly at the sheets surrounding her.

"Oh," says Brittany in reply. She pulls up her knees to her chest and tilts her head to one side. "How long have you been up?"

"About an hour," Santana tells her. "I er…" She falters. "Couldn't sleep."

Brittany's face drops. "Because of me?"

"What? No!" says Santana quickly, but the hangdog look on Brittany's face doesn't abate. "Hey." Santana rises from her chair and hesitates for a moment before sitting herself back down on the bed. Next to Brittany. Who is still naked. Santana swallows and averts her gaze; now that she's sat here she's not quite sure what to say anymore. "Um…" she begins ungracefully. "I had a good time last night." Brittany furrows her brow a little. "After Beavis and Butthead left I mean. Not gonna lie, every second we spent with them sucked hardcore."

"It wasn't that bad," says Brittany in a quiet voice.

"With you," says Santana, ignoring Brittany's words completely. "I had a good time with _you_." Brittany gazes at her like she's waiting for Santana to keep talking. "Um…Brittany…I'm sorry about last night." This clearly wasn't the right thing to say either because Brittany's face shifts right back to upset. "Wait no! Not like that! I mean…" An awkward chuckle escapes her lips. "Sorry. I'm not good at the words thing."

"Just tell me what you're trying to say, Santana," Brittany suggests.

"Yeah…I mean…" Santana takes a deep breath and looks down at her hands. "I'm sorry about what I said last night after Puck and Finn left. I don't want you to leave. I want you to stay here with me for- I mean for as long as you want to." Thankfully, Brittany smiles at her. Encouraged, Santana continues. "I really like you, Britt, and I'm so happy you're here with me."

"I'm happy I'm here with you too," says Brittany, her smile widening.

"Plus you're super hot," Santana adds. And to this, Brittany nods in full agreement. "You're not exactly hard to look at."

Brittany laughs and releases her tight grip on the sheets to link her hand with Santana's. It feels different that it did before and she licks her lips thoughtfully. "You're kind of ugly," Brittany tells her, and Santana pouts. "Like, when we got here I was like, 'should I ditch her and hook up with the guy who works on the desk?'…but then I decided not to."

"Good to know," replies Santana. She sighs and hangs her head in mock disappointment.

"I thought it was important," is the reply.

The two fall into silence and Santana glances back at her laptop, which is still switched on and open to a newspaper article about Carl Howell's mysterious death. "So why were you already up?" Brittany asks.

For a moment, Santana considers just not telling her…but she doesn't think that's going to wash anymore. "I was thinking about what Puck said last night."

"About how green M&M's taste better than all the other colours?"

"Um…not quite," says Santana carefully. "About the hunters that have been killed. Dave Karofsky was a friend of mine." Brittany's face falls and she begins to stroke Santana's hand with her thumb. "I guess after you fell asleep it just started playing on my mind."

"Understandable," Brittany remarks.

"I was thinking maybe I'd uh…investigate," says Santana. Brittany nods slowly. "It's just…it might be really dangerous."

"Isn't everything you do super dangerous anyway?" asks Brittany with a small amount of confusion in her voice.

"It might be nothing," replies Santana with a shrug, "but if it's not then whatever this thing is has already killed one of the best hunters out there." She takes a deep breath. "So…as my um…partner…I think it's better if we decide as a unit."

At these words, Brittany positively beams at her. It's a bit of a strange reaction considering what Santana actually wants her to do. "Okay," says Brittany easily. "I'm down with it if you are."

It's strange having this kind of conversation with someone. Santana has always either worked alone or with her father and hunting with her dad had most certainly not been an equal partnership. Whatever Daniel Lopez wanted, he got, and Santana's job was to follow orders without question. She knows it was partly because in the back of his mind, her father wanted her to stay safe and thought he could do that by bossing her around. She suspects it was more to do with his desire for power and respect that comes from being an important surgeon in a past life though. Brittany is much more accommodating.

"Cool," says Santana with a small smile. "Thanks, Britt."

They hang out in there room for another few minutes before Santana offers to go out and bring back some breakfast. Brittany's eyes twinkle and she makes a joke about how she could get used to breakfast in bed and Santana blushes.

* * *

An hour and a half later, Brittany and Santana are back in their piece of crap car speeding down the highway. They'd switched the TV on after breakfast and already flocks of reports about the missing trumpet were flooding into the local news station so Santana decided they should probably skip town sooner rather than later. Amusingly, no descriptions of her or Puck had surfaced during the reports she watched so obviously the security guard that helped them had clearly been too embarrassed to share the story with his superiors. She knows full well the dim-witted police aren't going to catch her, but Brittany was starting to look uncomfortable so she'd agreed to head off early. Besides, when she'd gone to buy breakfast Brittany had put her clothes back on so there wasn't much point in hanging around anyway.

"Where did you say we were going again?" asks Brittany, as she fiddles hopelessly with the radio. She keeps switching the station half way through songs just in case she's missing a better one somewhere else. It's driving Santana nuts.

"To visit a psychic," Santana informs her for the second time. Out the corner of her eye Santana sees Brittany scrunch up her nose.

"My dad always said that psychics are phoneys who are just out to steal money from deluded old women wanting to chat with their dead cats," replies Brittany. She changes the radio station again and stops when it lands on a song that Santana doesn't recognise.

Santana lets out a short laugh. "Your dad's a smart man."

"So why are we going to see a psychic then?" Brittany probes.

"This isn't any old psychic," says Santana with a slow nod. "She knows what she's talking about. Freaks me the hell out, to be honest. Plus she's the biggest bitch gossip known to humankind so if anyone knows something it's gonna be her."

"Why don't we just call her then?" Brittany suggests.

"I wish," replies Santana darkly. This is one of her least favourite ideas for information but after an hour of internal debate she had to admit to herself that it made the most sense. "She won't do readings over the phone. She says it 'clouds her inner eye' or some other bullshit. She really just likes the idea of having flocks of visitors desperate for her wisdom."

"Are you two friends?" asks Brittany curiously and Santana can't stop a snort of derision from escaping.

"God no." Santana casts her mind back to the last time they spoke. It had been… embarrassing and she doesn't care to think about it if she can help it. "Haven't even seen her for a couple of years."

"Will she remember you?"

"I'm very memorable," replies Santana with a sly grin towards Brittany. "But yeah, she remembers every damn little thing. Last time I spoke to her she remembered things I hadn't even told her."

Brittany's eyes widen. "Can she read minds?"

"She always insists she can't," says Santana thoughtfully, "but I think she can a little bit. Maybe you can ask her when we get there."

Brittany wraps her arms around her chest and stares out the window at the bright sun riding high in the sky. Santana has to resist the urge to tell her to look away so she doesn't damage her corneas. "I don't want to ask her," Brittany says after a minute of silence. "She sounds scary."

"She's not scary," says Santana with a small smile. "Don't worry about it. You'll probably love her and she's definitely going to love you."

"Yeah?" Brittany changes the radio station again; this time to a Coldplay song.

"Totally. How could she not? I mean…have you seen you?" says Santana without thinking, then realising what she's said she feels heat rush to her cheeks. Thankfully, Brittany seems not to notice. She's obviously pondering something because her forehead is wrinkled in that way it does when she's thinking really hard about something.

"The world would be so much better if everyone could know what everyone else was thinking," Brittany tells her after a minute. Santana raises a dubious eyebrow. "No really!" Brittany argues before Santana can refute it. "No secrets and no lies in the world. Just think of all the weeks of sex we could have had if I'd known what you were thinking that first day in the diner."

Santana snorts in amusement at her counterpart's logic. "It's a nice idea, Britt, but my ability to do my job is dependent on secrets and lies. Can you imagine the mass hysteria if people find out that the monsters under their beds are real? People are happier living in the dark."

Considering this for a moment, Brittany tilts her head to one side. "I wasn't happier living in the dark. I don't even really like the dark."

"Yeah well…you're different to most people," Santana replies. Then she frowns because some jackass keeps trying to overtake her even though she's pushing ninety miles an hour. It's really a miracle her car hasn't fallen to bits at this point because she's been pressing it beyond its limits for about two years now and she practically lives in the thing.

It's only after a couple of minutes of playing speed racer with the asshole in the BMW that she realises Brittany has fallen into dead silence with a rather hurt look on her face. "Hey…what's wrong?"

"Nothing," says Brittany unconvincingly. She turns away from Santana to look out the window.

"It doesn't look like nothing," Santana says. "Was it something I said?"

Brittany slowly shakes her head…and then nods. "Do you really think I'm different to everyone else?"

"Um," Santana begins stupidly. Is this a trick question? "Yeah?"

"Oh," says Brittany with a soft slump of her shoulders.

"Do you think that's a bad thing?" asks Santana curiously. Then at Brittany's downtrodden look she hurries on. "Because it's not. You being different to everyone else is why I like you. Most people suck. If you were like everyone else then…well we probably wouldn't be friends now."

Brittany appears to contemplate this for a minute and she searches Santana's face for lies. "'Different' is what grown-ups tell you to make you feel better about being weird," she says. "Or special."

At that, Santana laughs out loud. Then she actually sees Brittany's expression and stops immediately. "Brittany…" she says warily. What is it people are supposed to say in this situation? Her dad was never this insecure. "Don't be sad. You're not…okay well you're a bit weird…but in a really good way. I like you just the way you are."

Brittany perks up a little but still looks doubtful. "Really?"

"Yeah, of course," says Santana with a shrug. "Britt, if I didn't like you or whatever then I'd never have let you come with me in the first place. I have very high standards."

In the confines of the car, Santana sees Brittany nod slowly in agreement. Does this mean she's okay now? "Okay," says Brittany eventually. "Thanks, Santana."

"You don't need to thank me," replies Santana with a shrug. "Just telling it like it is."

Thankfully, Brittany smiles. "No lies this time?"

"No lies," Santana promises. It makes her a little sad that Brittany seems so reluctant to believe her. She's so confident sometimes…last night springs to Santana's mind as a massive example, so it's strange to her that Brittany should have doubts now.

"I like you just the way you are too," Brittany tells her after a moment.

Santana feels her lips curl up in the corners. That's probably the nicest thing anyone has ever said to her.

* * *

**Author's Note(s): **Okay so the reason it took me so long to update this story was because I really struggled writing that first scene! If anybody wants to fill in the gaps of what happened after I stopped writing it, please feel free :p

Thanks for reading and as mentioned before any questions can be directed to cognitivism dot tumblr doc com!

ETA: I'm gonna up the rating to an M for violence, swearing and sexual references just FYI. Probably should have done that a while ago! Sorry.


	8. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Glee or the world in which this story is based.

**Author's Note(s): **Yo yo yo. Happy Brittana Week! Hope everyone is well :-) Thank you for reading and reviewing! Hope you enjoy this chapter.

**No Rest for the Wicked  
**_Chapter 6_

The drive to Lawrence takes longer than Santana anticipates. If she'd been by herself she'd probably have driven through the day and night, slept for a few hours in her car and then gone on her quest for information first thing in the morning. Brittany, however, had other ideas. A few hours after darkness had fallen, she'd insisted Santana find a motel because 'driving when you're tired kills people'. She'd argued the toss, of course, but Santana was finding it really difficult to say no to Brittany at this point. It was something she'd have to work on. Then at that thought, Santana flinches internally. She shouldn't need to have to 'work on' saying no to some girl she picked up on a hunt.

But then, Brittany isn't just _some girl_.

Is she?

Ugh. This is just getting a little too complicated for her tastes.

Santana rolls her shoulders as she pulls up outside a familiar house complete with daisies in the windows and a white picket fence surrounding it. Some things never change. Or maybe they do…were they tulips last time she was here? She yawns loudly and stretches her arms above her head, actively ignoring the uncomfortable clicking noises her arms make as she does so.

She's far too tired for what is about to come. After an awkward conversation yesterday about where Brittany would be sleeping, she and Santana had spent most of the night...decidedly not sleeping in their motel room.

Is it too early in their relationship to be sharing a bed like this, Santana wonders. Is what they have even a relationship? Santana isn't exactly relationship material and Brittany…well frankly Santana has no idea what's going on in that girl's brain. Sometimes she's half convinced Brittany isn't even from planet Earth.

But what if Brittany thinks they're like…a proper couple or something now? Don't people have to have a talk before they decide to be 'together'? Or what if Brittany is just content to have sex with Santana and not take their relationship any further? A 'friends with benefits' kind of thing. Yeah, Santana could totally be down with that.

Maybe she should just ask Brittany? But that would run the risk of putting a strain on their friendship if she says something Brittany doesn't like. Or–

"Santana?" Brittany says, interrupting Santana's entire string of thoughts. She's looking at her with a curious expression. "Are you okay? We've been sat here for like three minutes and you haven't moved."

Santana feels heat creep up to her cheeks and she clears her throat awkwardly. "Just thinking," she tells Brittany. Then she claps her hands together in a poor attempt to break the tension in the car. "Ready to go?"

Brittany nods and the two of them get out the car into the brisk morning sunlight. Santana shivers lightly and pulls her leather jacket in more closely around her shoulders. She kind of wishes she'd put on an extra layer this morning. Brittany, on the other hand, is wearing nothing but a loose fitting grey tank top and a pair of blue and white striped shorts. Not that she's complaining about Brittany's choice to forgo sensible clothing, but she doesn't really understand how her partner isn't absolutely freezing right now.

"You're staring," Brittany says with a smirk.

"Am not," Santana immediately protests, flustered. She averts her eyes and begins marching towards the front door to her location. "You're crazy." Brittany chuckles and hurries to match her stride up the little pathway.

Before she knocks on the door, Santana takes a quick glance around the neighbourhood. All these houses look the same. It's creepy.

It takes less than a minute for the door to be thrown open by a rather annoyed man. His irritation melts into confusion and then delight when his eyes fall on Santana. She resists the urge to roll her eyes at his glee. After their last encounter she'd have thought he'd be a lot less happy to see her face again if she's honest.

"Well, well," says Kurt Hummel, with a wry smile. "Look what the cat dragged in."

"Have a lot of experience of cats dragging things in?" Santana replies inquisitively. "Finally accepted your lot in life and purchased a throng of devoted felines to help you through those lonely nights of pining after the ever elusive Mr Right?"

Kurt lets out a sigh as though he was expecting that kind of answer. "And who is your lovely friend?" he asks.

Santana glances at Brittany who smiles shyly. "Hi, I'm Brittany," she says with a small wave. Kurt looks at her appraisingly and then smiles back.

"Fabulous," says Kurt. "I'm Kurt." Then he gestures for the two to go into the house.

"About time," Santana mutters as she brushes past him. "It's freezing out there."

Kurt clicks his tongue at her and then ushers them along the hallway and into an immaculately decorated sitting room. It's not the room that readings usually take place in, Santana notes, because that one is all decked out in chintz and dream catchers and incense sticks. The kind of thing people usually associate with psychic readings and all that jazz. It's better just to give people what they're expecting Santana had once been told. But no, this room is cream with a floral statement wall, leather furniture and a deep red rug. All very tasteful and clearly the fairy queen's doing.

"I'll go and get her for you," Kurt tells them. "She's just finishing with a reading."

Santana nods and Brittany says a polite, "thank you."

When Kurt leaves the room, Santana yawns again and leans back against the sofa. "God, this thing is _so_ comfortable," she says to Brittany.

"Maybe we should get one for the car?" Brittany suggests with a smile. Santana isn't a hundred percent sure she's joking.

"We could just take this one," Santana suggests.

Brittany seems to ponder this. "We could," she then agrees. "I can distract Kurt and you could get it out before anyone notices."

"How are you going to distract him? I don't know if you noticed, but flashing your boobs at him won't work quite like it does with most men," says Santana.

"I only did that like…three times," replies Brittany, clearly scandalised. "How did you even know?"

Santana cackles loudly. "I was just kidding, Britt. I know you're a classy lady." She winks and Brittany smiles.

"I could compliment his waistcoat," Brittany suggests. "Grey is very in season, you know. I read about it in Teen Vogue."

"Teen Vogue?" Santana asks with an unladylike snort of amusement.

"Yeah," replies Brittany with a serious nod. "Ever since they did that feature on me in high school I've felt obliged to keep up to date. The newbies don't have a patch on me though so it's kind of a waste of money…"

For a moment, Santana tries to imagine what kind of things Brittany wore to worm her way into a fashion magazine. She very much doubts it's the same style she's adopted now with her penchant for wearing neon leg warmers on her arms and layers upon layers of scarves atop a thin tank top… But then, maybe it is. Brittany could probably make even the most hideous of animal sweaters look sexy if she wanted to.

"Well we can pick you up a copy of this month's edition if you want," says Santana with a grin. "Wouldn't want the ghosties to think you're unfashionable."

"Do you think they would?" Brittany asks with a small pout.

"Don't worry about it," Santana tells her. "You're so hot nobody even notices what you're wearing anyway."

Obviously, then is the time Kurt decides to reappear.

"Thanks, Santana!" says Brittany happily. "Hey, Kurt."

Kurt looks between the two of them with the biggest grin on his face she's ever seen. Santana feels a strange churning in her stomach and forces herself to look away. There's a knowing glint in his eye that she doesn't like one little bit.

"She coming then?" asks Santana gruffly. "I don't have all fucking day, you know." Both Kurt and Brittany frown at her abrupt mood swing.

"She's on her way, Miss Lopez," replies Kurt with an arched eyebrow. "No need to get tetchy."

"Just trying to speed this process along," Santana says, trying to force a little levity back into her voice. "Places to go, people to see, monsters to slaughter. You know the drill."

Kurt makes an unimpressed noise in the back of his throat and shakes his head. "I've missed our special little talks, Santana."

"I don't really blame you," she says musingly. "I'm delightful."

"You wish, girl," says an amused voice behind her.

Both Santana and Brittany turn their heads to see none other than Mercedes Jones stood in the doorframe with a wide grin on her face. Against her will, Santana smiles back. It's not often she goes somewhere to be welcomed with a smile rather than a gun pointed in her face.

Mercedes walks over to where Santana sits and–

"OW!" Santana yells as a hand hits her clean around head. "What the hell!"

"'I'll call you' she says," Mercedes mimics in a ridiculous over the top ghetto voice. Is that meant to sound like Santana? "And where was that phone call, hmm? It's been a year and a half...Don't you roll your eyes at me!"

"I wasn't going to," Santana protests.

Mercedes arches an eyebrow because yes, Santana was totally going to roll her eyes. Damn it. "Whatever," Santana huffs.

"Um…" says Brittany uncomfortably. "Hi."

Mercedes' eyes snap to Brittany and she smiles once more. "Hey, Brittany. It's nice to meet you. I've heard so much about you."

Brittany gapes at her while Santana mutters darkly under her breath. "From who?" Brittany asks.

"Santana, obviously," says Mercedes, tilting her head in Santana's direction.

"You have heard nothing from me," Santana snaps. God, what is wrong with these people?

"I hear everything," replies Mercedes as she moves to sit down on the armchair at the other side of the cherry wood coffee table. With every step she takes the elaborate costume jewellery hanging from her wrists and around her neck jingle likes sleigh bells. Santana can't help but wonder if she actually likes being weighed down by cheap metal or if she thinks it makes her look extra psychic for her customers. Or 'clients' as Mercedes insists they be called.

"Wow," says Brittany, clearly awed. Her earlier fears of being…well, afraid of Mercedes have clearly not come to fruition because Santana can see a million questions burning in Brittany's eyes. "What did she say about me?" is apparently the first thing Brittany decides to ask. Santana dreads the answer.

"All good things," Mercedes assures her. "And some things that don't bear repeating."

"I didn't say anything," Santana mutters darkly in response. Brittany looks between the two as though not sure who to believe.

"Sure you didn't," says Mercedes, stretching her arms above her head. "I've been doing readings all morning so I'm stiff from sitting down," she then says to Brittany, despite not having been asked.

"Readings are…" Brittany trails off in question.

"Commune with people's dead relatives, read palms, divine whether poor Mrs. Riley's husband is cheating on her…he is, by the way…that sort of thing," says Mercedes. Brittany nods with interest. "And then sometimes…" Her gaze swivels to Santana. "I get stray hunters in here demanding information. Hunters who can't even be bothered to bring me a present to sweeten the deal." Santana claps her hand to her forehead. Damn! She knew she'd forgotten something as soon as she walked through the door. "No phone calls _and_ no Thorntons truffles. You're so on my list, Lopez."

"Yeah well, you're on my list too. How about that," Santana retorts. "And I have nineteen different guns, eight grenades and sixteen and a half knives in the trunk of my car. Whose list is more threatening?"

"How can you have half a knife?" asks Brittany curiously and Mercedes snorts in amusement.

"Um…in a very serious and violent event I broke off the handle. It's really just a blade now. I barely escaped with my life," replies Santana. This time Mercedes outright laughs.

"Serious and violent?" she repeats. "Are you sure you wouldn't care to revise that statement?"

Santana narrows her eyes at the psychic. "I was trying to cut open a pineapple, okay! Those bastards are really tough!"

Kurt and Brittany chuckle at her and Santana feels warmth spread across her cheeks. She hopes her skin is dark enough to conceal it.

"Santana Lopez; hunter extraordinaire…thwarted in motel room by rogue pineapple. Authorities are baffled. That won't do much for your street cred," Kurt observes.

"I'm glad you're all so amused," says Santana dryly.

"Don't be mad," says Brittany with a grin. She grabs Santana's hand and squeezes her fingers tightly. "I'm sure you won in the end." Santana looks down and her face becomes hotter. "…you didn't?" Mercedes cackles.

"It didn't _deserve_ to be eaten by me," Santana protests. "I threw it in the bin where it belonged."

"You're totally right," says Brittany in agreement. "I tried one once and it didn't taste anything like a real apple." Santana smiles at her, completely unaware of the knowing look Kurt and Mercedes share while her attention is elsewhere. "It's like a crazy ninja fruit." There's a short pause.

"So Brittany," says Kurt, his voice a little higher than usual, "why don't you tell us a little about yourself? Not many people could tame our dear Santana."

"Excuse me? _Tame_?" says Santana, offended. They all ignore her.

Brittany smiles. "There's not much to tell. I'm a waitress in a little diner…they've probably given my job away now though so I suppose I'm not anymore. Santana came into town pretending to be the FBI and saved me from a ghost lady so I decided to keep her around." She shrugs lightly and shoots Santana a fond smile.

"How long have you been together?" asks Kurt.

"I don't know," replies Brittany. "Not long."

"Forty-one days," Santana says idly, causing Mercedes and Kurt to look at her simultaneously. Her cheeks redden and she looks at the floor.

"How lovely." There's an amused glint in Kurt's eyes that Santana notes is mirrored in Mercedes' face. Those bitches are doing this on purpose to make her squirm.

"Calm down, Santana," says Mercedes with a roll of her eyes.

"I didn't say anything!"

"Your face is saying everything," Mercedes replies sternly. Brittany looks at Santana with a small frown. She's probably looking for words in Santana's eyes or something. Finding none, she shuffles closer and wraps her arm around Santana's. Kurt and Mercedes stare at her.

"All right," says Santana, clearing her throat awkwardly. "How about you give me the information I want and I'll owe you one?"

Mercedes considers this. "How about I give you the information you want and you can owe me two?" she counter proposes. Santana rolls her eyes.

"Right. Whatever you want, devil woman," she replies. Brittany elbows her. "Sorry. _Mercedes_."

With a small grin, Mercedes nods her head. "Okay. So you want to know what I know about the dead hunters?"

Santana rolls her eyes and doesn't ask how she knows. Brittany still seems impressed though. "That's right."

The mood of the room perceptibly sobers and Mercedes looks at Kurt, who rises to his feet and leaves the room. Santana's eyebrows contract; what, is Liberace too delicate for this kind of information?

"You're right," says Mercedes after a moment. "There is something going on. Those deaths are connected and there have been others you don't know about. Someone is doing this."

Brittany squeezes her arm fearfully at the grim tone Mercedes has adopted and Santana squeezes back in a poor attempt to reassure her. "Someone?" she questions.

"A demon," Mercedes clarifies. Santana's eyes widen; over the last year there has been a strange spike in demon activity but she thought nothing of it. She's only ever encountered them twice herself and she barely escaped with her life both times. "It's been difficult to get a reading on everything. The spirit world has been getting more and more restless but it seems hardly anybody knows anything."

"I'm very disappointed in you," says Santana wearily. "You aren't getting two of anything if all you have to share is omens of doom."

Mercedes scowls at her. "I said it was hard to come by information. I didn't say I hadn't managed it. Ever doubt me again and I will beat your skinny ass."

"Yeah yeah," says Santana. "Whatever."

At this point, Kurt re-enters the room carrying an old leather-bound book in his hands. He smiles at Brittany, who is sporting a worried expression, and hands the volume to Mercedes. Santana notes the lack of title on the worn, brown cover.

"This particular demon isn't just anybody," Mercedes continues as though there had been no interruption. Santana wishes she'd just tell her what she needs to know instead of telling it like it's some sort of children's story. "Nobody is sure quite who she is but she's powerful. More powerful than any demon I've ever heard of." Brittany shudders.

"But you have an idea who she is," says Santana slowly, sensing the tone.

"Kurt and I have a theory," Mercedes agrees.

"What's her plan?" Santana presses.

"As I said before, nobody really knows. She's been quite influential over the past year. We think she's building herself some kind of demon army," says Mercedes. All trace of her earlier good humour is gone now. "We don't know what her plan is but she seems to have started it by killing off her opposition, one hunter at a time." Santana swallows against her suddenly dry throat.

"I don't like the sound of that, Santana," says Brittany quietly. _Me neither_, she thinks. Instead of saying so out loud, she begins to stroke Brittany's arm comfortingly.

Mercedes then looks down at the book she's holding and opens it to rifle through the pages. Based on her delicate handling, Santana guesses it's very old. Although that familiar scent of old paper would have given it away even if she hadn't seen it. Eventually, Mercedes slows down her search as she obviously begins to draw closer to the page she's looking for. Santana's grimaces at the unhappy look on the psychic's face as she stands and passes the tome to her and Brittany.

Santana scans the page, finding the gothic script difficult to read. "The Rack," she says aloud; mainly for Brittany's benefit because she's squinting at the page as though it's a new brand of language she can't quite fathom. "All demons come from hell," she then says. "Why are you showing me this?"

"Keep reading," Kurt tells her.

Sighing, Santana does as she's instructed. Her frown deepens as she reads until nausea begins to rise in her stomach. "'A prison made from bone and flesh and blood and fear'," Santana quotes, almost without realising. "'The rack is where human souls are strung up to be broken'." She continues to mutter random sections under her breath, aware that everyone is watching her closely.

When she's finished digesting the whole page, Santana licks her lips and closes the book. She doesn't like the soulless way the graphic image of a woman being crucified peers up at her.

"You think the demon behind these attacks is the Queen of the Rack," Santana says after a fraught moment of silence. Mercedes and Kurt both nod. "Why?"

"Whisperings," says Mercedes. She looks around the room as though she can hear these whisperings as they speak. "Gossip."

Santana nods her head thoughtfully. You should always trust the gossip of a hunter.

"The demon is going by the name 'Sue'," Mercedes tells her.

"What?" Santana scoffs. "Sue? You're kidding me, right?"

"That's like…the least demonic name I've ever heard," Brittany adds.

Mercedes shrugs. "It's what I've heard. Take it or leave it."

A few moment of silence passes as Santana begins to mentally sort through her options. Mercedes has never steered her wrong in the past and despite her whining, Santana honestly respects the woman's opinion. If Mercedes says something is true then it probably is. Beside her, Brittany looks increasingly confused with a hint of disbelief in her eyes.

"This…'Rack'," Brittany says curiously, "It's in…Hell?"

"That's right," says Kurt.

"So Hell is real? Like…definitely?" Brittany probes in a strained voice.

"Afraid so," says Mercedes with a sympathetic smile. Brittany pales and Santana suddenly realises that this is probably a lot for her friend to take in. So far they've only encountered a couple of vengeful spirits and all this new information is a bit of a leap.

"What about Heaven?"

"Heaven exists too," says Mercedes immediately. Kurt and Santana exchange a look but decide on saying nothing. Santana imagines Kurt has had this debate with the psychic many, many times.

"Good," says Brittany with a soft smile.

Santana clears her throat. "Can I keep this book?" she asks. Kurt shoots her a scandalised look.

"Absolutely not!"

"But what if I need to refer to it!"

Mercedes makes an exasperated noise. "I suggest you write it down then. Do you know how long it took me to find that? Months!"

"_You_?" says Kurt indignantly.

"Okay. Do you know how long it took _Kurt_ to find that, then," says Mercedes with a roll of her eyes.

"Fine," says Santana, disgruntled. "I'll go and get my laptop."

She moves to stand up, but Brittany beats her to it. "Don't worry, Santana. I'll get it for you. Where are your keys?"

"No, it's okay I'll–" Brittany pushes her back down and shakes her head.

"Sit," says Brittany. "I'll go."

Santana raises her eyebrows but pulls her car keys from her pocket and hands them to Brittany. Brittany smiles at her and leans down to plant a small kiss on her cheek before darting back up and fleeing the room. Santana gulps and raises a hand to touch the spot where Brittany's lips had touched. They really are the softest lips in the whole world.

The sound of someone clearing their throat loudly raises her from her stupor.

"Girl, you got it bad," Mercedes says, dragging out her last word with a knowing grin. Santana can feel the beginnings of a frown on her face.

"I know," says Kurt, turning to his friend. "I half expected her to start vomiting rainbows."

"You're one to talk, Doris Day," Santana retorts. Much to her annoyance, Kurt and Mercedes smirk at each other.

"Defensive much?" asks Kurt with a raised eyebrow.

"There's no need to get your panties in a twist," says Mercedes. She leans back in her chair and surveys Santana with ill concealed amusement. "I was just sayin' that you obviously really dig this girl. And I don't blame you. Nothing wrong with it."

Kurt makes a noise of agreement. "Plus we're unused to seeing you act in such a…" He pauses while he searches for the right words. "Civil manner."

"Fuck you," says Santana with a disgusted shake of her head. "I just like her, okay?"

"You more than like her," says Mercedes confidently. "You can't lie to a psychic, girl." She taps her temple with her index finger. "I can tell."

Anger bubbles in the pit of Santana's stomach and she unconsciously clenches her hands together. "Well you're wrong. Your mojo must be off or something, 'cause I'm not falling in love with the chick."

Mercedes bites down on her bottom lip and Santana can just tell she's fighting off a smile. It makes her want to punch a wall…or a face. Yeah. Definitely a face. Ladyface, preferably.

"Oh, Santana," says Kurt in a faux wistful voice. "So young. So volatile. Brittany certainly has her hands full. Will you take her name or will she take yours?"

Before she can stop herself, Santana launches the book in her hand at Kurt's head. It misses by an embarrassingly large distance. "Shut the fuck up! Don't say stuff like that in front of Brittany. She'll get the wrong idea!" she hisses.

"Oh will she get the right idea?" replies Kurt, like he's imparting some kind of undeniable pearl of wisdom. But he reaches over to retrieve his book from the floor with an unhappy look on his face.

"Kids these days," Mercedes remarks. Santana grinds her teeth together.

"Look," she says in a low voice. "Sex is _not_ dating."

Kurt pales a little. "Okay, _ew_."

"Whatever you say, Lopez," replies Mercedes dismissively. She seems neither concerned nor in agreement with Santana's statement.

"Just–"

"Santana?"

Santana feels the anger seep from her body and for one horrifying moment she realises that she doesn't know how long Brittany's been standing there for.

"Is everything okay?" asks Brittany. Santana glances over her shoulder to spot Brittany wearing a rather worried expression. The wave of relief she feels is almost overwhelming.

"Yeah, Britt," replies Santana. Her voice sounds strangled and she clears her throat. "Everything's fine."

"Are you sure?" Brittany persists. It's strange, Santana muses, to have someone so concerned for her wellbeing.

She's holding Santana's laptop firmly in her grasp as she makes her way from the door and back into her position on the couch. Santana nods her head; she doesn't trust herself to speak while Tweedledum and Tweedlegay are staring at her with that twin look of amused satisfaction. Brittany gazes at Santana as though she doesn't believe a word she's saying, and when the laptop has exchanged hands she places a comforting hand on Santana's thigh. It's really not supporting Santana's earlier point at all.

"Thanks," says Santana, her voice choked.

Santana drops her gaze to her laptop and opens it up so she can begin transcribing the page. She'll have to add it to her journal at a later a date just in case this ever comes up again. She should probably show Brittany her journal, actually. It's where she writes everything new she learns about the supernatural. Like her own little reference book.

As she types, she can feel Mercedes' eyes trying to stare into her soul.

"Santana Lopez," she says as Santana draws to the end of the page. "I know what you're thinking and don't you even dare!"

Santana looks up. "I don't know what you're talking about," she says dumbly.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about," says Mercedes sternly. "It's a suicide mission."

Pursing her lips, Santana glares at her. This is her job; what else does Mercedes really expect her to do? It's not like she's going to just wait around until she's ambushed by a hoard of demons. Get them before they get you has always been Santana's personal mantra and she's not about to stop that now. How in all good conscience can Mercedes tell her to back off a case when something so bad is building?

"Calm yourself, Satan," Mercedes continues with a roll of her eyes. "I'm not saying you shouldn't take on this case, although for my own selfish reasons I don't think you should. I'm saying you shouldn't do this alone."

"She's not alone," Brittany points out, and Santana feels warmth spread through her entire body at the words. She looks over at Brittany with a fond smile, which the blonde woman returns readily. She hadn't actually been sure Brittany would want to still follow her into such a dangerous situation, but now she knows Brittany isn't planning to leave her she feels like a weight has been lifted off her shoulders. Santana hadn't even realised she was worried about that possibility until now.

Mercedes expression softens. "I meant the two of you, alone," she clarifies. "Sue is building an army and you're just two people. You can't handle this alone."

"You've clearly never seen 300," says Santana, causing both Mercedes and Kurt to frown in confusion.

"You're not making the compelling point you think you are," Kurt comments.

"Well what do you want me to do them, hm? Build my own army?" says Santana derisively. Mercedes raises an eyebrow. "Oh please. You can't be serious."

"Santana, I know that even before your father–" At Santana's glare, Mercedes immediately changes tack. "I know you have this stupid 'lone wolf' attitude but I never pegged you for the suicidal type. Taking down even a single demon is damn near impossible."

"And you know this from your own vast experience of hunting?" Santana shoots back, not at all liking where this conversation is going.

"How many times do I have to tell you? I know _everything_," comes Mercedes' cocky reply.

In her ear, Brittany whispers, "I think she really does." It causes a smug grin to make its way onto Mercedes' face.

For a minute, Santana considers what she's being instructed to do. She certainly can't build an army…Christ, where would she even get the soldiers from? People aren't exactly lining up to work with her even when she isn't suggesting such a dangerous mission into probably even more dangerous territory. But on the other hand, can she really in good conscience take Brittany on this hunt knowing their chances of survival are significantly lowered because Santana is too stubborn to ask people for help? Not that she doesn't want help out of stubbornness; it's just that nobody else is as good as her and they just get in her damn way.

She's never been in this type of situation before so maybe getting some backup wouldn't hurt. Puck and Finn would be willing to help her and she's owed a couple of favours by others. Perhaps, just this once, she should take the advice being offered up by Mercedes. Besides, maybe somebody else will know more about what's going on. Puck had mentioned Shelby Corcoran was looking into Goolsby's disappearance and that woman is damn thorough. She doesn't hunt herself anymore but Santana doubts she'll let her missing friend go quite so easily.

"What are you thinking?" Brittany asks her quietly.

"That Aretha and Elton might be right about this one," she admits, ignoring the surprised look on Kurt's face and the relieved one on Mercedes'. "This whole thing is just _weird_ and I don't like it at all. If we're going into a completely unknown situation then I want as much backup as possible. I'm not ready to make my own trip down to Hell quite yet."

"You're not going to Hell!" says Brittany, scandalised.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," says Kurt, but a smile offsets his words.

"Rude," says Santana pointedly. "And on that note, I think we'll be off, chicas. Places to go, hell to raise, you know the drill."

Mercedes pulls a face and shakes her head. "Fine, but I want those damn phone calls this time, Santana. In fact, can I have your phone please, Brittany?" Brittany immediately hands it over and Mercedes adds her number to the contact list. Santana rolls her eyes when she sees the name typed in. 'Psychic Extraordinaire'. "I want updates, ya hear," Mercedes adds as she passes the phone back.

"Okay," replies Brittany happily. "I'll make sure you get your chocolates soon too." Santana glances at her in disbelief. _We'll see_, she thinks.

They all rise to their feet and before she can stop it, Santana is pulled into a tight hug by Kurt, crushing her laptop against her chest. "We're so glad you're okay," he whispers in her ear and she feels an unexpected rush of fondness for the man she's never even really considered to be a friend before. She pulls away and offers him a weak smile only to be whisked off to the side by Mercedes while Brittany and Kurt say their goodbyes.

"You need to keep that girl around," Mercedes tells her in no uncertain terms. "She's good for you."

Santana's eyebrows contract. "I have no intention of doing otherwise," she says. Mercedes smiles at this and looks visibly relieved once more. Santana can't help but wonder what she's ever done to earn herself such friendship from two people she's met in grand total of four times including today.

"Look after yourself, okay? We were worried about you after last time," says Mercedes. A pang of sadness grips at Santana's chest but she brushes it aside. "I don't wanna hear about your skinny ass being fried by demons."

"I'll try my best," Santana promises. "You look after yourself too. And Ladyface too because I guess he needs the help."

Mercedes opens her arms and Santana chuckles before allowing herself to be hugged.

When she steps back, Brittany is instantly by her side, linking their fingers together. "Thanks for all your help, guys," says Brittany, far too chipper considering everything they've just learned.

"Er…yeah. Thanks and all that," Santana echoes.

They exit the way they came in; being led by Kurt, who waves them off at the door. Santana is obviously freezing the second they step out the warmth of the house, but she doesn't complain as Brittany practically drags her back to the car.

"So," says Brittany teasingly, "where to next, boss?"

"The best place to build yourself an army I guess," Santana replies. "The Roadhouse."

* * *

**Author's Note(s):** Well I think we all have a basic idea of where this fic is going now. I hope everyone liked Kurt and Mercedes' little cameo appearances :-) Thanks for reading, guys!

cognitivism dot tumblr dot com


	9. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Glee or the world in which this story is based.

**Author's Note(s): **Hey howdy hey :-) Bit of a long chapter ahead of you so fair warning. As always, thank you so much for the people who are still reading this story and in particular to those who have reviewed! Hope you enjoy today's instalment.

**No Rest for the Wicked  
**_Chapter 7_

Before they head out to the Roadhouse, the two women decide to get lunch first. It's Brittany's turn to choose where they eat so they end up in a little café that Kurt had apparently recommended as they were leaving. It's…what Santana can only describe as 'cute' and she's really not sure how she feels about eating in such a dainty location. The walls are cream with a high shelf running all the way around the room displaying a variety of novelty teapots.

"Look at that one," Brittany says excitedly, pointing to one shaped like a watering can.

"Er yeah…it's great," replies Santana with a complete lack of enthusiasm that has Brittany pouting.

The elderly waitress brings them a menu and smiles politely as she not-so-subtly takes in Brittany's bizarre attire. Santana is sure she catches a rather bemused look on the woman's face as she turns around to walk away. It's a bit much coming from a woman wearing a frilly white apron and a bonnet, Santana thinks. A _bonnet_ for Christ's sake.

"Stop scowling, Santana," says Brittany after a moment. Santana turns her gaze from the old woman's back to look at Brittany. "What's wrong with you today?"

"What are you talking about? There's nothing wrong with me today," Santana protests. She picks up her menu and begins to flick through it. Hmm…the sandwiches actually look incredible. Brie and bacon? Hell yes. Screw healthy eating.

"You were being super moody with Mercedes and Kurt," Brittany points out. "They were only trying to help and you kept being…mean."

"Mean?" Santana scoffs.

Looking rather hurt by the tone, Brittany looks away. Santana searches her brain for something to say to make this better; although personally she doesn't think she's done anything wrong. She treated Will and Grace the same way she always has. Before she can say anything, the waitress returns and takes their orders. Brittany asks for a strawberry milkshake and then tries to order a dessert along with her sandwich. Santana has to bow her head to conceal her amusement.

When they're alone again, Brittany looks at her. "You were mean to Puck and Finn too."

"They deserved it," replies Santana instantly. Her eyes fall on the small porcelain bowl in the middle of the table filled with white and brown sugar cubes. "They're douche bags."

Brittany sighs. "They seemed okay to me."

"You don't know them like I do," says Santana with a shake of her head. Brittany looks completely unimpressed with her answer and her lips thin. "I don't really understand what you want from me, Brittany."

Her blonde counterpart doesn't respond immediately and instead looks thoughtful, as though she herself isn't quite sure what she wants. Santana folds her arms across her chest and completely ignores the waitress, who returns with their drinks and sets them down on the table. Brittany's milkshake has a little cherry on the top and looking down at her plain cup of coffee, Santana regrets her order.

"You're nice to me," says Brittany after a moment, "but you're mean to everyone else. I don't understand why." Santana blinks. "Why wouldn't you want everyone to see how amazing you are?" It's hard to be annoyed when Brittany just called her amazing. Which she totally is, by the way.

"I'm not really interested in making friends. You know that," Santana tells her, trying to keep her voice even.

"I know," Brittany agrees. "But I don't know why."

"Does it matter? I've been fine by myself for years," says Santana. She's genuinely not sure why Brittany cares. "And now I have you." A smile tugs at her lips. Now she has Brittany. It's a nice thought.

But Brittany still looks a little despondent. "I just don't like the idea of you being all alone," she says with a pout. "You should have lots of friends."

"Brittany," says Santana firmly, "I don't need friends. You shouldn't worry about me. People are unreliable. I'm better off on my own, trust me." Brittany looks at her. "Except for you, I mean," she rushes to qualify.

"What about me though?" Brittany asks, staring so intently into Santana's eyes that she can't bring herself to look away. "How do I know one day you're not just going to start being mean to me like you are to everybody else."

Santana's breath hitches and she begins to fiddle with her coffee cup. "You're different, Brittany," she says quietly. "I can't promise I won't…do things wrong sometimes but I'm going to try as hard as I can to be better for you."

Much to Santana's relief, Brittany's features soften and she offers Santana a kind smile that feels like it pierces her very soul. Unable to handle the swell of emotions, Santana looks away and lets out a slow, calming breath. There is a soft scraping of wood against the worn carpeted floor and Santana sees Brittany's feet take a couple of steps towards her. Before she understands what's going on, two long arms wrap themselves around her and squeeze her shoulders gently. She smiles nervously and raises her head just as Brittany bends down and kisses her softly. There's a fluttering in Santana's stomach as their lips mould together.

"Thank you," Brittany whispers after pulling back a little. Santana smiles at her, a little breathless and Brittany chuckles. "You know, you are like, the cutest thing I've ever seen?" The smile morphs into a scowl. "I know you're all…I'm Santana and I'm a badass…which you are, but I wish you could see your face sometimes." Brittany giggles again and Santana's shoulders slump in defeat. "I think it might be the cheeks. So adorable."

Brittany releases her grip about Santana's body but doesn't pull away properly until she's stolen one last kiss. Santana is frozen in place, unsure how to respond to this kind of attention. She's never been on the receiving end of this type of…affection before. It makes her heart beat faster and her head spin.

Someone clears their throat loudly and Brittany smiles and quickly returns to her own seat. Their waitress shakes her head with disapproval but the hint of a smile and puts down two plates on the table.

"Enjoy your lunch, girls," she says with a raised eyebrow. Not understanding why, Santana laughs.

* * *

It's one o clock when Brittany and Santana return to their car and begin the next phase of their journey. Honestly, Santana is glad to see the back of Kansas; it isn't her favourite place in the world. She always passes questionable billboards while she's here that make her feel a little uneasy.

"How long will it take to get there?" Brittany asks after about half an hour of driving. Santana can see her legs twitching and gets the impression that Brittany really isn't used to spending so much of her time sitting around. It became apparent about a month ago when every time Santana would stop the car, Brittany would jump out and run laps around whatever buildings they were the closest too. They have spent a lot of time sat down these last couple of days though so she doesn't blame her friend for feeling restless.

"If the traffic isn't too bad it should take about six hours," Santana tells her and Brittany's face falls.

* * *

"Are you _sure_ you want to go right now?" asks Santana. It's already nine o clock at night and though the Roadhouse will undoubtedly be open for another few hours, she's a little tired from all the driving and Brittany looks like she could do with a sleep herself.

"Yes, Santana," says Brittany, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet. They're in a new motel room (hideous olive green walls, dark brown carpet and matching bedspread) and Brittany has just changed out of her shorts (much to Santana's disappointment) and into a pair of dark jeans and is now donning a bright orange jacket because she's convinced the weather is going to turn nasty soon. "I want to go now!" Santana sighs. "Please?"

"Okay, okay," Santana concedes. "Just…stop pouting at me."

"And I think we should talk about you letting me drive soon," Brittany adds happily.

"Don't push your luck," replies Santana grimly, but she knows resistance is futile. Brittany will end up getting what she wants in the end.

The decide to drive to the Roadhouse…well, Brittany decides they're going to drive to the Roadhouse because she says she doesn't want to walk back in the rain. Santana doesn't bother arguing because she doesn't like the way the cold bites at her skin once she steps outside. When all this is over she's definitely going to find herself a hunt in Miami. Or maybe Hawaii.

When they pull up outside their destination, Brittany pulls a face and looks at Santana incredulously. "Is this the right place?" she asks, confused.

Without answering, Santana opens her car door and steps outside. The relatively small building is made almost entirely of aged wood and affixed to the second story is a large sign written in gold lights that spell, 'Hudson's Roadhouse' in large, unmissable letters. Definitely the right place, she thinks. Surrounding the building are a couple of pickup trucks, a few motorbikes and a few cars. Santana's eyes linger on a black '67 Chevy Impala; what she wouldn't give for that car. It's almost as badass as she is.

"I didn't realise the Roadhouse was a bar," says Brittany, sounding just a little unimpressed. She walks around the car to stand beside Santana.

"This isn't just any bar," Santana tells her.

Brittany raises an inquisitive eyebrow but says nothing. Santana turns to slip her hand into Brittany's when something off to the side of her building catches her attention.

It's a man and a…teenager? Where the hell did they come from? Santana swears there were not there a second ago.

"I don't think this is a good idea," says the man in a deep voice. They can just about hear him in the still night air. He stands unmoving, unblinking. It's seriously creepy.

"Yeah well I don't think your trench coat is a very good idea," protests the teenager in a high, girlish voice. "Pick up a copy of Vogue. This isn't pre-war Europe."

The man looks down at himself curiously and even from their distance, Santana can see his entrancing blue eyes. They remind her a little of Brittany's.

"Which war?" he asks seriously, and the girl huffs and stamps her foot dramatically. Santana expects she'd be a little more threatening if her clothes didn't appear to be predominantly bright pink. Where can you even buy luminous pink capri pants? Santana shoots a sideways glance at the woman stood next to her…well, probably the same place Brittany buys all of her clothes from.

"I don't care which war," yells the girl. "I'm doing this so you need to leave me alone."

"It was a mistake to bring you here," says the man in response. His voice is so eerily calm that it puts Santana instantly on edge.

"No." The girl's voice changes and she suddenly sounds desperate. "Please let me stay. Pretty please with a cherry on top?" She clasps her hands together and bows a little before him. The man in the trench coat remains unmoved. "I promise I won't do anything bad!" The man tilts his head to one side. "Just let me stay a few days and I'll stay out of trouble," the girl pleads. "Promise."

"Fine," the man says tonelessly after a moment of silence. Santana doesn't know whether to be impressed by the girl's manipulation of him or thoroughly disgusted by the begging. "But I'm not happy about this."

Santana blinks and then –

She blinks again. Where the hell did he go? The girl is stood alone with a pleased look on her face.

"That was weird," Brittany mutters. Santana simply nods her head and watches the girl twirl on her tiptoes and then practically skip into the front door of the Roadhouse.

"Very weird," Santana agrees once she's disappeared from sight. "I'm pretty sure it's past her bedtime."

Brittany laughs and grips Santana's hand in her own. Santana briefly looks down and their intertwined fingers with a small smile and then she leads Brittany into the bar.

The first thing that hits her is the fact that the room _doesn't_ smell of smoke. Things have certainly changed since the alteration of management. It's also a lot brighter in here than she's used to. Santana scans the room and scowls when her eyes fall on what appears to be a large karaoke machine next to a small stage made from two large, wooden boxes that have been crudely painted black. What in God's name has happened to this place?

"Um…it's very nice, Santana," says Brittany in her ear. Without looking Santana can tell she's smirking.

Without responding, Santana continues to look around and makes note of a few of familiar faces. There are only about eleven people here. She registers the girl from outside sitting in the corner of the room, also gazing around with wide eyes. Santana briefly catches her eye and the girl's mouth drops open in shock. Santana ignores her; what a freak.

"What do you want to drink?" Santana asks Brittany, as she pulls on her hand gently and leads her to the bar.

"A beer," replies Brittany. "Whatever they've got on tap."

Santana nods and takes a deep breath, hoping against hope the owner of the bar isn't working tonight. Thankfully, Santana can't see her. Instead, she sees somebody else she knows.

"Hey, Matt," says Santana. The young black man turns around and smiles lightly. He doesn't say anything though. He never does. "We'll have a couple of beers."

The man nods and gets to work pouring their drinks.

"You know the people who work here?" Brittany asks, clearly intrigued.

"I know most of the people in this room," Santana tells her with a nod. "Well…I don't know them as such. I've met them." Brittany looks around with renewed interest as Matt returns with their beers and Santana pays for both.

"They don't look much like soldiers," says Brittany after a moment. Santana gestures for her to move and they sit down at a round, empty table beside a purple pinball machine.

Brittany is right of course, but then if hunters really did look like soldiers it would be a lot harder for them to do their jobs. Santana suspects if she'd turned up to Brittany's town in full military garb then her reception would have been far less accommodating. She sees what Brittany means though; over half of the people in the room are middle-aged men with a beer gut, obvious hygiene problems and sporting denim jackets. On first glance, they aren't who she'd want on her side in jam. Knowing what she does though, they're actually the first people she'd want at her side. Barring the inevitable mental issues almost every hunter has, they're actually the most competent group of people Santana has ever had the misfortune of meeting.

"This whole bar is full of hunters," Santana finally tells Brittany, who is clearly becoming irate with her lack of communication. "It's kind of like a meeting place we all go to if we need information." Brittany's mouth forms an 'o' shape. "My dad brought me here a few times when he was tracking something or he needed to know how to kill a particular creature."

Brittany's eyes light up with curiosity, but before she can interrogate Santana about whatever is on her mind, a shrill voice calls her name. Santana groans and buries her face in her hands. Maybe this will make her invisible?

"Santana Lopez," Rachel cries, strolling over to them with a wide smile on her face. "It's been a while."

"Not long enough," Santana mutters under her breath. Brittany elbows her so Santana lowers her hands with a glower. "Hey there, Berry. I see you've done a bang up job of ruining this entire bar."

Rachel's face falls and she crosses her arms. "I will have you know that I have done an outstanding job of keeping this place afloat."

"Is that right," says Santana with a slow nod of her head. She almost cringes as she takes in Rachel's purple argyle sweater and her short mustard skirt. "That karaoke monstrosity in the corner has been put to good use then?"

"Yes!"

"By somebody other than you, I mean," Santana stipulates. Rachel's cheeks turn a little pink but her face is still that of outrage. "You should really lower the lights in this place," Santana continues. "It's really ruining the ambience."

"Like you even know what that word means," Rachel mutters under her breath, looking away for a moment. Santana glowers at her but Rachel either doesn't notice or doesn't care. "Who is your companion?"

"Brittany," says Brittany immediately. She's staring at Rachel with a blank expression and Santana really isn't sure why. "I'm Santana's partner."

As has been the general reaction from everyone thus far, Rachel looks both baffled and rather entertained by this new piece of information. Those violent urges that Santana has struggled with ever since she was a child begin to rise to the surface and she clenches her hands into fists under the table.

"Partner?" Rachel questions in a clipped voice. "Of the Sapphic variety or of the monster vanquishing variety?"

Santana's fingernails begin to dig into her palms and Brittany looks at her with a confused expression on her face. "Does she mean–"

"She does," Santana replies, impressed with herself at the lack of obvious rage in her voice.

Brittany pouts her lips and looks at Rachel consideringly. It's peculiar because Santana has never seen Brittany treat anyone with anything other than absolute friendliness and warmth. "Not that it's any of your business," says Brittany carefully, "but both." She stares at Rachel who seems to cower under the cold look.

"I'm sorry," says the short brunet. "I didn't mean to pry." Brittany arches her eyebrows; people who don't mean to pry don't ask such personal questions. "Anyway," Rachel says, her voice a little higher than usual, "I'm needed back at the bar."

"See you around, then," says Brittany. As Rachel scurries over the bar, Santana turns to look at Brittany.

"I don't think I've ever been more turned on by you than I am right now," she says with a smirk.

Brittany laughs and seems to relax. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have been so mean to her." Santana doesn't think Brittany was mean at all but whatever. "I just don't think I've ever felt such hate for someone I've only just met before. Who was that?"

"It's okay, Britt-Britt," replies Santana with a warm smile. "That was Rachel Berry and you'll soon learn that she has that affect on everybody. She actually runs this place since the original owner went and got herself hitched."

"Hudson?" Brittany asks, obviously having remembered the name from the front of the building.

"Carol Hudson," says Santana with a nod. "She's Finn's mom."

"Oh," says Brittany. "Small world."

"There aren't many hunters so yeah, everyone tends to be connected in some way," Santana agrees. "Even better, Carol Hudson married Kurt's father, Burt Hummel."

"That's sweet," says Brittany with a smile.

Santana nods out of habit rather than agreement. "Yeah, so Carol gave up the bar and Burt gave up hunting. She didn't want to lose another husband to shapeshifters or whatever. Not sure where they moved to but I think it was somewhere in Kansas to be near Kurt."

"She lost Finn's dad to hunting?" Brittany asks, her face falling. Santana feels her heart clench at the sad look on Brittany's face.

"A hunt went bad. I think it was a demon that killed him in the end," Santana tells her softly. "Finn was just a kid but his dad had been teaching him about our world and when he was old enough he left home with his best friend, Puck, and now…well you know the rest."

"That's so sad," says Brittany unhappily. Under the table, she rests her hand on Santana's thigh.

Santana shrugs. "You'll find that most hunters have got their own little sob story. People don't tend to fall into hunting by accident."

A pensive look crosses Brittany's face and she looks around thoughtfully before turning back to Santana. "What's yours?" she asks, and Santana's heart sinks. To be honest, she's surprised Brittany hasn't asked this before now because it seems like the obvious thing to want to know.

"Now's not really the time, Britt," she says with a nervous laugh. "We have a job to do."

Brittany's doing that thing again where it's like she's staring into her soul and it's only because of her years of training that Santana is able to keep her cool. She's not sure whether she hates or loves the way Brittany makes her feel with a single look. "But you will tell me?" Brittany asks.

_I'd prefer not to_, is the first thing Santana thinks. Instead, she takes in a deep breath and says, "I will. If you really want to know." Honestly, she tries not to think about it; it was more than fifteen years ago and tragic though it was, she likes to think she's moved on from her mother's death now. Brittany offers her a warm smile and squeezes her thigh.

"Santana!" says a voice behind her. This time, Santana doesn't feel an overwhelming wave of dread at her name being called. She turns her head, and sure enough both Girl-Chang and Boy-Chang are closing the distance between her and Brittany's table.

"Hey guys," she says easily, and for some reason they seem a little surprised. Probably by how cordial she's being. Ugh, some people.

Without waiting for an invitation, Tina sits herself down on the available chair while Mike takes one from another table and pulls it over to sit beside his wife.

"Brittany," Santana begins, because she's decided that she wants to forestall the inevitable questions while she can, "Tina and Mike Chang. Asian-Fusion, this is Brittany. She's been hunting with me for the last few weeks, and no I've not been possessed and no I haven't tried to kill her, before you ask."

Everyone looks amused and exchanges slightly awkward greetings. "So how have you been, Santana?" Tina asks, a slight edge to her voice.

"Absolutely dandy," Santana replies instantly, raising an eyebrow. Why do people keep asking her that? It's like…Rule Number One not to question people on their mental health in this profession. At least that's what her dad taught her. Tina seems to realise her mistake and glances at Mike briefly. "How is hunting vampires workin' out for you?"

Beside her, Santana practically feels Brittany perk up with interest. "It's great, thanks," replies Tina dryly.

"Vampires?" Brittany questions, looking to Santana for more information. "I thought you were just kidding about that!"

"Why would I kid about vampires?" Santana says, her brow furrowing. There is _nothing_ funny about vampires.

"The scary kind, right? Not the glittery kind," Brittany asks, completely ignoring Santana's tone. "The kind you stab with a piece of wood?"

"Yes and no," Tina answers for her. She has a baffled look on her face, like she's not sure where Santana picked this girl up from and it causes a small surge of anger to course though Santana's system. If she says anything unkind Santana will end her. "Staking them only works in the movies. You need to cut off their heads in real life."

The sparkle disappears from Brittany's eyes as she contemplates this. "That sounds really horrible," she mutters unhappily. "Let's not do that." She looks at Santana hopefully.

"Don't worry," Santana replies darkly, ignoring the twist in her stomach, "that won't be an issue. I've had quite enough of vampires." She can feel the sympathetic gazes being directed at her from the Changs. Thankfully, if Brittany senses that there is more to this story she doesn't ask about it. She looks at Tina and Mike. "So far we've only done a couple of angry spirits."

Tina nods. "We just got back from a hunt in a little mountain town up north." They all fall silent for a moment.

"So, Brittany," says Mike. It's the first time he's spoken since they arrived. "What did you do before Santana took you under her wing?"

"Waitress," says Brittany, her chipper demeanour instantly returning. "I used to dance but I had to drop out of college."

Mike's face lights up in a way Santana has never seen before. "I used to dance too," he says. "Worked at a little dance studio in Manhattan teaching eight to eleven year olds hip hop and modern jazz."

"No way," Brittany exclaims. "Hip hop is like…totally my favourite. I was studying at Juilliard and teaching kids was like…my dream." Santana smiles sadly at her enthusiasm. She bets Brittany would have been so good at teaching children. She has exactly the right temperament and childish joy to make the perfect educator.

"I wanted to open my own studio eventually," Mike confides in them, and a sad smile matching Santana's crosses Tina's face. Santana expects she's heard this story a hundred times before. "But life doesn't always work out that way you want it to."

Ignoring Mike's cheerless tone, Brittany grins. "I'll be right back," she says, and she jumps to her feet and wanders out of sight leaving a rather awkward silence in her wake.

"Well she's…interesting," says Tina after a moment.

"Don't start," says Santana, rolling her eyes.

"No," says Tina instantly. "I don't mean in a bad way. I just mean she isn't who I'd have pictured you choosing as a friend."

Her wording amuses Santana. As much as it pains her to admit it, she didn't choose Brittany at all. Brittany decided it all on her own and Santana was compelled to go along with it no matter what. Not that she'll ever say those words out loud.

"I like her," is what Santana says. She probably wouldn't tell this to anybody else but she trusts Tina and Mike as well as she is able. She personally trained them in the art of destroying vampires …well, she and her father did, so she knew them before they were hardened killers. "It's nice having somebody around to talk to."

Santana pretends she doesn't notice the way Mike's hand slithers into Tina's and gives it a comforting squeeze. They've lost so much, but at least they still have each other.

The atmosphere is broken when loud music strikes through the bar. Santana frowns. She vaguely recognises the track; it's from a movie? "What the fuck?" she says, eyes searching for Rachel Berry. Instead, the find Brittany skipping towards her with a gleam in her eyes. However, she bypasses Santana with a wink and holds out her hand to Mike. He looks at her like she's actually lost her mind.

"I know there's nobody here with apple bottom jeans or boots with the fur and we're not in a club, but you should come and dance with me anyway," she says in a firm voice.

Mike looks to Tina as for help, but the Asian woman is smiling just a little bit and nods her head. Santana almost laughs when Mike shrugs his shoulder and allows Brittany to pull him sharply to his feet and drag him over to the widest empty space. Santana spots Berry sitting on top of the bar with wide eyes; the other occupants of the room do not look at all impressed by the music assaulting their ears.

It takes them a few seconds to get a feel for the song but then they start to dance, and Santana's mouth drops open. In the back of her mind she registers that Chang has got moves, like, seriously, but her attention is solely on Brittany. Holy shit.

Santana isn't even bothered that every single perv in the bar have stopped what they're doing to stare at Brittany because she honestly doesn't blame them. She moves like she was born to dance and Santana is pretty sure her mouth is watering. Mike does some weird pop and lock thing with his arms and Brittany laughs loudly and tries to mimic him. She's only partly successful and somehow that makes Santana's heart beat even faster.

_She turned around and gave that big booty a smack  
She hit the floor  
Next thing you know  
Shawty got low low low low low low low low_

"I can't believe he's dancing," Santana hears Tina say beside her. She glances towards her friend and…is that a tear on her cheek? This really isn't the kind of song Santana thinks is worth crying over.

Mike says something in Brittany's ear and the woman laughs again, her body still moving beat for beat with the music. They're getting a bit close for Santana's liking but she knows that Mike wouldn't leave Tina for anything in the world so she isn't worried. Well…mostly. Those hands of his look awfully comfortable on Brittany's hips. Hm.

The song draws to a close in what feels like the blink of an eye and the smile Brittany gives Mike when it finishes is blinding. They step apart from each other and sit themselves back down next to their respective partners. The dull, angry chatter in the bar picks back up again.

"You should close your mouth," Brittany comments slyly and Santana immediately does so. She feels heat rush to her cheeks.

"That was amazing," says Santana, awed.

"Incredible," Tina agrees knowingly. She kisses Mike and he smiles at her.

"Yes, it was _quite_ the performance," says a toneless voice. Christ, what is it with people sneaking up behind her recently? Santana groans loudly.

"Oh what fresh hell?" she says bitterly.

"No need to be so rude, Santana," replies Quinn, coming into full view of the table. "Aren't you going to ask me to join you?"

A resounding 'no' is on the tip of Santana's tongue but Mike jumps to his feet and offers Quinn his chair, which she accepts without a thank you. Damn his gentlemanly ways.

As Mike goes to fetch himself another chair, Tina looks between Quinn and Santana rather awkwardly. The rivalry between the two of them is positively legendary. Or so Santana likes to believe anyway; the fact is most people couldn't care less that she and Quinn don't like each other.

Brittany leans over to whisper in Santana's ear. "For someone who says she doesn't want any friends you sure have a lot of them." Santana grimaces and spares Quinn a quick glance.

"Quinn Fabray is _not_ my friend," she whispers back. Brittany looks a little dubious but becomes distracted when Mike returns and shuffles her wooden chair closer to Santana's so there's room for him to sit at the table.

For a while, nobody speaks. If it wasn't for Brittany's calming presence beside her, gripping tightly onto her thigh, Santana would probably have drifted off by now listening to the low hum of talk from the other occupants of the room. The things one hears eavesdropping on hunters would make any normal person's hair curl but Santana often finds herself interested in other peoples near death experiences. Maybe it's so she can learn from their mistakes but she's not really sure because mainly she's just watching sad, lonely human beings trying to drown their memories in booze.

It seems after a minute or so that Tina can no longer take the awkward tension, because she jumps to her feet and clears her throat. "Um…d-does anyone want a drink?" Tina only ever stutters when she really nervous about something. What's she scared of? That she and Quinn are going to start a knife fight at the table? God.

"Yeah," says Santana. "Me and Britts will have another beer."

"Nothing for me, thanks," says Quinn in her soft, perpetually condescending tone. Santana briefly notes the bags under the blonde woman's eyes and the stiff way she's perched atop her chair.

"Right," says Tina with a nod. She scurries off and Santana rolls her eyes. Coward.

Once his wife is out of eyeshot, Mike raises a hand to his neck and scratches it a little uncomfortably. He isn't a man of many words but Santana has known from the moment she met the two that his happiness level drops instantly when Tina isn't within arms length of him. Maybe it's because of what happened to their son but Santana isn't sure. Not many couples can handle the loss of a child and stay together, but the Changs managed it so Santana thinks their relationship must have always been something special.

"What's wrong?" asks Brittany quietly in her ear once more. Santana offers her a strained smile and shakes her head. Thankfully, Brittany takes the hint and questions her no further.

"Is nobody going to ask me how I am then?" Quinn prompts after another long moment. She's intentionally not asking who Brittany is and it's getting on Santana's last nerve.

"I'm sorry," says Mike with a strained smile. "How are you doing, Quinn?"

Quinn raises an eyebrow like it's all she's capable of doing. "I'm fine, thank you. And you?"

Mike shrugs. "Still alive."

"And you, Santana?"

Before Santana can respond, Tina returns holding a small tray with four drinks resting on it. Ever the gentleman, Mike jumps to his feet to assist her in the distribution. Tina herself seems to be drinking a Bloody Mary; it's a little macabre for a vampire slayer really.

"Thanks," Brittany says quietly as she's handed her beer. She lifts her hand from Santana's leg to stifle a yawn and the loss of warmth throws Santana for a moment.

"You want to leave?" Santana asks Brittany, noting how the joy from her face as she'd danced has faded to be replaced with weariness. It's been a long few days for them.

"Not yet," Brittany replies, tapping the side of her glass. "After this drink?" Santana nods, aware that the other three are watching her curiously. Why is it that for the past week she's felt like some kind of zoo animal kept around for people's personal amusement? She can't possibly be interesting enough for such a captive audience.

"So," says Tina after a moment, "what brings you back here, Santana?" She takes a sip of her Bloody Mary and peers at Santana with beady eyes.

"You have been MIA for a long time," Quinn observes. She's obviously got a bee in her bonnet about something so Santana ignores her.

She shrugs. "The usual; demon uprising, hunters being killed in their beds, Jesus was spotted on a grilled cheese sandwich. All the good omens of death." Tina's smile vanishes.

"We heard about Karofsky," she says and Mike nods grimly beside her. "You're looking into it?"

"Sure am," replies Santana, with a quick glance at Brittany. She's not sure why she does it; probably just to make sure she's still with her. "Been doing a bit of research. I hate to be bearer of bad news but it's not looking good for us."

Her eyes are on Tina and Mike, who know little about demons and most other things outside of their vampire-based comfort zone, but her attention is focused on Quinn. She doesn't look at all surprised by this news.

"Something you'd like to share with the group, Fabray?" Santana prompts.

Not responding straight away, Quinn licks her lips and focuses her cold hazel eyes onto Santana. She's not sure what it is about Quinn Fabray that she despises so much. Maybe it's her constant air of superiority or her cut-throat way of getting whatever she wants no matter the cost. Or maybe it was because she'd joined Santana and her father for a hunt shortly after Santana's nineteenth birthday and it became quite clear that her father actually preferred and trusted their temporary blonde companion more than his own daughter. It's probably not any of those things though, Santana decides. Quinn is just a bitch and that's all there is to it.

"I've spoken to Shelby," says Quinn eventually. _Of course_. "She tracked down Dustin Goolsby. Found him dead in some seedy bar in Manhattan covered in traces of sulphur."

Brittany turns to Santana. "Sulphur? I don't get it."

"Demons," says Santana simply. She talks to the whole table because she isn't sure Tina and Mike know this either. "It's the easiest way of telling if a demon is around; they leave behind the smell of sulphur." Santana can see the question in Brittany's eyes. "Nobody knows for sure why but the popular theory is that it's how they bring a special little bit of hell back to Earth with them." It's a disturbing thought and Brittany seems to agree because she reaches over and takes Santana's hand in her own under the table. Quinn notices, if her tiny smirk is anything to go by.

"Indeed," Quinn agrees. "She's not interested in hunting them down herself but she's been calling me with scraps of information she's found. Apparently it's a pack of demons we're looking for rather than one."

Santana nods because she and Brittany already know this. This seems to annoy Quinn, who likes to hold all the cards. "I'm glad we're on the same page, Quinnie," says Santana with the emptiest sweet smile she can muster. Quite the unholy trinity though they would make, she's fairly sure that she, Brittany and Quinn aren't quite the 'army' of people Mercedes had in mind when she'd suggested it earlier.

"This is a little above our pay grade," Mike remarks. Santana bites back a sigh; she was hoping he wouldn't say that. Unlike the majority of her acquaintances, she actually trusts Mike and Tina and would really like them on her side for this.

"This is a little above everybody's pay grade," she says, squeezing Brittany's fingers tightly. "Demon bitch lady must be crazy powerful."

"Lady?" Quinn asks sharply, and Santana suppresses a smirk.

"Yeah. Haven't you got that far yet?" Santana clicks her tongue in faux disappointment. In an effort to conceal her annoyance, Quinn clenches her jaw and raises a hand to straighten a stray strand of blonde hair. "Their leader is going by the name of _Sue_. Ridiculous, I know. Word on the grapevine is that she's left the comfort of her role as Supreme Leader of the Rack to grace us with her malevolent presence."

Quinn's eyebrows contract in disbelief. "You're not serious? As in _the_ Rack?"

"It's true," says Brittany, talking to Quinn directly for the first time. "At least…we think it is." Santana nods along with the words.

The Roadhouse is starting to empty out now. A few hunters stumble through the door, too drunk to drive but Santana knows that won't stop them. When you risk your life on a daily basis what's a bit of drunk driving added to the mix? It's just as good a way to go as any other, she supposes. A bit embarrassing though.

The strange girl in the pink is still sitting in her lonely corner though. For the last half an hour, Santana hasn't been able to shake the feeling that she's been watching them. She's just a kid though so why should Santana give a damn? She is a little surprised Rachel has let someone who is clearly underage spend so long in her seedy little bar though. Unlike previous management, Berry is a lot more stringent about the rules. Stupid woman has all the wrong priorities.

"And you are?" says Quinn in a sweet voice, laced with frost. Brittany blinks as though she's not sure how to respond. Santana wonders if Brittany's getting as tired of answering this question as she herself is.

"Brittany is with me," Santana tells her. Quinn offers her a small, sardonic smile and looks between them quizzically.

"Very brave of you," she remarks to Brittany after a moment. From the corner of her eye, Santana sees Tina shift uncomfortably in her chair and share a look with Mike.

"I'd be a Gryffindor," Brittany replies, causing Santana's anger to fizzle out a little in confusion. A _what_? Only Tina seems to understand because she chuckles into her drink.

Quinn offers Brittany a patronising smile. "I just mean with Santana's past record–"

Santana cuts her off by slamming her hand down on the table. Her glass shakes and beer drips down the side. "How about you shut your bacon-hole before my fist finds its way down your throat, Fabray?" Santana says with barely controlled fury.

"I'm just saying your new friend has a right to know what she's letting herself in for," says Quinn with a shrug of her shoulders. Cold spreads through Santana's entire body and Brittany shoots her a worried look.

"You know I am kinda tired," says Brittany quickly. "Maybe we should leave…"

For some reason, this makes Quinn laugh. "Oh she hasn't told you then?"

"Quinn," says Tina warningly but without force. Nobody likes to put themselves on Fabray's Naughty List if they can help it. Bitch is vicious.

"Get her to tell you about her daddy, okay?" says Quinn. "It's a really great story."

Santana jumps to her feet, hands clenched into fists. She's dimly aware of Brittany standing beside her, trying to pull her back and away from the table, but the blood pounding in her head dulls her senses. "You know what, Quinn Fabray? Fuck you!" She struggles against the arms holding her in place.

"Santana, please!" says a shrill voice that Santana recognises as Berry. Where did the troll come from? "You're making a scene in my bar!"

"Fuck you too!" snaps Santana. She frees herself from Brittany's arms and shoves Rachel away from her. "You disgust me."

"And there's that infamous temper," Quinn comments calmly. Santana lunges forward but once again two solid arms wrap themselves around her waist and drag her away from the table. This time it isn't Brittany.

"Get your hands off me," she yells, twisting around in Mike's arms and trying to push him away. The few people left in the bar have stopped what they're doing to watch her now.

"She's not worth it, Santana," says Mike, gripping her arms so tightly in his hands she's sure it'll leave bruises. "Please calm down." Santana clenches her jaw and forces herself to stop squirming.

"Let go," she says through her teeth. Mike licks his lips and looks to Tina, who nods with wide eyes. His grip loosens and Santana immediately pushes him backwards; he's more prepared for it than Rachel was and manages to stay relatively stationary.

Santana takes a deep breath and without a backwards glance, storms away.

* * *

**Author's Note(s):** A few more character introductions in this one; I hope it wasn't too much to take in at once. Thanks for reading :-)

cognitivism dot tumblr dot com


	10. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Glee or the world in which this story is based.

**Author's Note(s): **'ello. As ever, thanks to the people who are reading and favouriting and reviewing and alerting! A bit of a change-up in perspective in this chapter. Originally everything was supposed to be from Santana's point of view but I decided to show a little bit of what Brittany is thinking starting from after the first break. Hope you enjoy this chapter :-)

**No Rest for the Wicked  
**_Chapter 8_

White hot rage courses through Santana's body as she slams her shoulder into the door to the Roadhouse and stalks outside and in the direction of her car. Rain beats mercilessly down on her skin and she glares up at the storm clouds that weren't there earlier; are they purposely doing this just to piss her off?

"Santana!" a voice calls behind her, but she doesn't falter in her stride. "Please stop."

Santana clenches her jaw tightly as the sound of footsteps on crunching gravel closes in on her. "Not now, Brittany," she snaps when she knows her friend is close enough to hear.

Naturally, Brittany doesn't know what's good for her and continues to jog towards Santana until they're close enough to touch. Santana bites down on her lip because she knows if she doesn't stop herself now, she's going to say something she'll really regret.

"Okay," is all Brittany says. Santana stops dead in front of her car door and desperately tries to push away all the negative feelings that are controlling her actions. She's obviously still for too long because Brittany's arms wrap around her shoulders and she feels herself being pulled forcefully into Brittany's chest. "I'm sorry, Santana. We should have stayed in the motel tonight like you wanted."

Santana is almost amused at that. "You didn't do anything wrong," she says tonelessly.

Much to her displeasure, Brittany's grip loosens and she turns Santana around so they're facing each other. For a second, Santana is dumbstruck. Brittany is staring at her so intently that it steals her breath away. Her eyes linger on the rain water that is already dripping from Brittany's bangs and running down her perfect face. She's so beautiful.

"Please don't cry," says Brittany so softly that Santana almost doesn't hear her over a distant roll of thunder.

"I'm not crying," says Santana breathlessly. A strange smile crosses Brittany's face and she raises a hand to stroke Santana's cheek gently. She shows her the small drop of water on her thumb. "That's…rain." Brittany just shakes her head sadly and pulls Santana in closer.

Swallowing against a lump in her throat, Santana weakly tries to free herself. She doesn't deserve Brittany's comfort because everything Quinn implied was a hundred percent true. Okay, so it was an absolutely bitch move to say it all out loud in front of an audience but it didn't make anything she'd said wrong. If Brittany wants to survive the next few years, the best thing she can do is get herself as far away from Santana as humanly possible.

"Come on, sweetie," says Brittany right into her ear. "Please calm down. You're shaking really bad and it's freaking me out."

Santana lets out a small choked laugh but otherwise finds herself unable to respond. The car park is lit up by another flash of lightning and Santana is struck by how desolate the whole place looks. She can't help but wonder how Rachel Berry of all people can stand living in such isolation from the rest of the world.

"Brittany," Santana begins, raising her head from the taller woman's shoulder. "I think you should leave."

She feels all the air expel from Brittany's body and she pulls away to look at her face. The reaction is not one Santana's expecting.

"This again?" Brittany asks with an arched eyebrow. "Santana, honey, I thought we'd been over this? I'm not going anywhere."

Santana blinks and feels hot tears fall from her eyes. Oh so she really _is_ crying. Not done that in a while. "Britt, everything Quinn said is right. You just don't understand. I can't keep you safe."

The sympathetic look that grows on Brittany's face almost sends Santana over the edge into hysteria. Brittany just _doesn't_ understand! "Maybe I don't need for you to keep me safe," says Brittany, almost as though it's a suggestion. "Maybe I'm old enough to make my own decisions."

A pathetic whimper of frustration escapes Santana's lips. She feels like her now soaking wet clothes are trying to drag her to the ground and she locks her knees to keep them from buckling. "You just…you don't get it, Britt. He died. He died and I just…didn't do anything."

"I know," replies Brittany, maddeningly calm. Santana shakes her head furiously. No she doesn't. There's no way she could. "Do you think the things that Quinn said are new to me?" Yes. "Whenever you mention your dad the light in your eyes just…dies. I know something must have happened to him." Santana shakes her head in denial. "I know it must have happened recently because people keep asking you about it and you keep glaring at them like…how dare they ask you such a stupid question."

"It _is_ a stupid question," says Santana with venom. Brittany just nods vaguely and runs her icy cold hands down Santana's leather covered arms. "Quinn is such a bitch."

"Nothing Quinn says is going to change how I feel about you," Brittany tells her. Santana feels another well of emotion and lowers her head a little, casting shadows across her face.

"She's right though, Brittany. If something happens to you I don't think I could ever forgive myself." Santana is determined to make her point clear. "My dad was killed and it was all my fault."

"It wasn't," Brittany insists even though she can't possibly know that.

A small laugh escapes; it sounds more like a broken sob. Pulling back, Santana breaks free of Brittany's grip and leans against the car. "It was. I refused to go on a hunt with him and because of that he's dead."

Brittany's eyes shine with compassion and she reaches forward to brush wet strands of hair away from Santana's face. She flinches away from the touch so Brittany withdraws her hand. Then just as Santana opens her mouth to say something else, the door of the Roadhouse is thrown open and two burly men stumble outside with booming laughs. Santana cringes at the thought of anyone seeing her like this and bows her head. She's starting to feel really stupid about this little outburst. It's exactly what Quinn wanted.

"Come on, Santana," says Brittany softly. "We can finish this conversation back at the motel, okay? Everything is gonna be fine."

Right now, in the pouring rain, that seems incredibly unlikely, but Santana gives a simple, sharp nod and fishes out her keys from her pocket. She takes a deep breath and tries to pull herself together. Game face: on. "Um…maybe I should drive," says Brittany tentatively. "You're a bit–"

"Just get in the fucking car, Brittany," Santana snaps. "I'm fine."

Brittany's face falls and Santana's stomach twists with guilt, but something stops her from apologising. The silent drive back to their room is not a pleasant one.

* * *

Brittany has always been popular among her peers. There's just something about her that people instinctively like. It never stopped all the mean kids in school from talking about her when they thought she couldn't hear them but as a general rule, Brittany is well liked by pretty much everybody she comes across. She's never had a _best_ friend before though. Or even a close friend really. Brittany is fun to hang out with, but she guesses she just isn't really _friend_ material or something. The boys always seemed to like her but it's not the same; at least Brittany assumes it isn't because she doesn't have anything to compare it to. What she used to do behind the bleachers with guys is probably not what people do with their girl friends.

Maybe that's why she's so drawn to Santana even though she barely knows anything about her. It's such a nice feeling to be so close to somebody and not have to worry about the silly little things that the girls in her high school had always thought were so important. College was different, of course. The people there were nice enough but Brittany couldn't help but feel like the other students and tutors alike looked down at her because of her small town ways and because she wasn't quite as good as everyone else. She'd have caught up to them in the end if her mother hadn't fallen ill. It's a shame she'll never have the chance to show them all that they were wrong about her.

Right now though? She doesn't really care about all those silly people from her old life because she has Santana. Santana doesn't seem to care that she's no good at math or geography or that she doesn't know why nobody at the Boston Tea Party drank tea. So what if they spend more time in the car than should be humanly allowed? At this moment in time, there's nowhere Brittany would rather be and nobody she'd rather be with.

Although, she much prefers it when Santana isn't on the verge of hysteria. It's weird because she's always so cool and collected but a few comments from Quinn has just sent her over the edge and Brittany really wants to know why. Brittany isn't stupid; she worked out pretty early on that there must be a reason Santana's dad isn't around anymore and based on the job he did she always imagined it couldn't be good. She's never asked though because she hates that heartbroken look Santana wears whenever she mentions him. She likes it better when Santana smiles. She has like…the prettiest smile in the world. It's like sunshine and lollipops and rainbows all rolled into one little facial expression.

At the moment though, they both look like drowned rats and as Santana fumbles with the lock to their door (her hands are shaking really badly from the cold) Brittany doesn't think she's ever looked more miserable. She's about to offer her assistance when Santana finally achieves her goal and pushes her way into their room.

"Fuck it's cold," Santana says when Brittany closes the door with a sharp _click_. Brittany tilts her head to one side and regards Santana carefully. She's refusing to look her in the eye.

"I told you it would rain," Brittany replies with a shrug.

"I guess you just know everything," says Santana bitterly. Hurt stabs at Brittany's heart and she lowers her head as Santana begins to wring out water from her hair. She's really not sure why Santana is being like this. Maybe it's like that time Lord Tubbington was sick so he kept trying to scratch her. Brittany knew he wasn't really mad at her and he just lashed because he felt bad.

"You promised me you weren't going to be mean to me," she says quietly.

Santana freezes, arms above her head. "I promised to try," replies Santana in an equally low volume, but the annoyance is slipping away now. It must be exhausting to maintain that level of anger all the time, Brittany thinks.

"You're not trying very hard," she observes. Santana's arms drop to her sides like all the strength has been drained from them.

"What is it you want from me, Brittany?" Santana asks wearily.

"I want you to be honest with me," says Brittany. Then as an afterthought she adds, "I want you to stop taking out your frustration with other people on me too. Please."

Santana hangs her head and for a moment Brittany just watches little droplets of water fall from Santana's hair and clothes. It's really hard to stay annoyed at her when she looks like this. So downtrodden and haunted. Eventually, Santana looks up (still not meeting Brittany's eyes though).

"Sorry," she mutters. Brittany almost doesn't hear it but for the time being it's good enough. It's probably the best she's going to get out of her now anyway.

Brittany takes a few steps forward and ignoring the reproachful look she gets, pushes Santana's heavy jacket from her shoulders and onto the floor. She'll pick it up later because for now her only mission is to get Santana to relax because she's shaking like those wind-up toys shaped like teeth. Brittany smiles lightly and takes off her own jacket and throws it to join Santana's on the ground.

"How about we make use of the tiny bathtub in the tiny bathroom so we don't catch ammonia?" Brittany suggests as she begins to fiddle with the hem of Santana's t-shirt. Santana lets out a weak chuckle and opens her mouth as though she's about to say something, but she seems to think better of it and closes it again. The dim sparkle is back hidden amongst the wretchedness in her eyes though as she nods her head at Brittany's suggestion. "And then maybe you can tell me what it is that makes you sad."

It takes her a moment to deliberate this but after a moment, reluctantly, Santana agrees and the two make their way to the dingy bathroom. Before they actually use the grey (Brittany isn't sure if that was the original colour or if it's just really worn down) bath, Santana insists on washing it down with the shower head because she doesn't want to 'catch AIDS or whatever' and Brittany certainly isn't complaining. While she doesn't mind sleeping in all these different motels she's really not a fan of not knowing how clean the bedspreads are and stuff. Santana tells her she'll get used to it but she's not convinced. Maybe she'll buy a sleeping bag and start using that instead of the provided sheets. Maybe she can find a rainbow coloured one. That would be awesome.

When Santana is happy the bath isn't going to give her an STI, she switches on the hot water and pours shower gel into the tub because they don't have bath stuff and Brittany really wants bubbles. She wants a sail boat too but apparently that's one of the few things Santana doesn't have stashed away in her car trunk of mysteries. Very disappointing. But then Santana starts to take off her clothes and any thoughts of toy ships vanish from Brittany's mind.

"Britt," says Santana in exasperation after moment. "Stop leering at me and strip."

Brittany grins at Santana who is now clad only in her underwear. "You're so pretty."

Santana's cheeks turn a little pink and she folds her arms across her chest. Brittany noticed fairly quickly in her friendship with Santana that the woman really doesn't know how to accept a compliment without either fake bravado or stuttering and stumbling over her words with a red blush across her face. It's really kind of adorable how flustered she becomes. The best part is that Santana thinks Brittany doesn't notice. Or maybe she just really _hopes_ Brittany doesn't notice.

The bath is more than half full now and Santana adjusts the taps so it isn't too hot. She's still shaking and there are goose bumps along her arms so Brittany decides to stop her 'leering' and quickly discards her clothes. They should probably find somewhere to do laundry soon because Brittany is running out of clean things to wear.

"After you," Santana says when she's finally satisfied with the water temperature. She gestures to the tub and offers Brittany a strained smile. Before following the request, Brittany presses a quick kiss to Santana's lips and then steps into the tub. In the back of her mind she briefly thinks that this is probably the most intimate thing they've ever done together. Maybe that's why Santana looks so nervous.

The water surrounds Brittany and burns at her fingers and toes. She flexes them under the water to encourage her circulation. It would probably be more comfortable if her knees weren't so far out the water; in retrospect she's really not convinced Santana is actually going to fit in there with her at all. Based on the dubious expression on Santana's face, she's obviously having the same doubts.

"We can totally do it," says Brittany after a moment of silence. "See." She splashes the water in front of her. "Loads of room."

Santana chuckles and shrugs her shoulders as if to say, 'what the hell'. It's a bit of an effort but eventually Santana sinks down in the water and Brittany pulls her backwards into her chest. It's a bit cramped but Brittany kind of likes them being this close. Santana leans her head back onto Brittany's shoulder and nuzzles into her neck.

"I wish you could always be my cushion," Santana mutters. "You're so warm."

"You're still freezing," Brittany observes, but she doesn't mind. Well, she doesn't mind _much_. Maybe this is what the girl in Twilight always feels like cuddling up with an icy cold vampire all the time? She tries to shift position but with Santana wedged firmly up against her it's virtually impossible.

"Struggling?" asks Santana with mild amusement. "You should probably get comfortable because unless someone comes in here with a crowbar I don't think we're getting out of this tub."

"This may have been a mistake," Brittany agrees with a light giggle. "I can't move my legs at all."

"Good," says Santana. "I like it when you're at my mercy." As if to prove her point, Santana then runs a cold hand from Brittany's knee to as far up her thigh as she can manage. She's stopped by her own hips firmly in the way.

Though Santana can't see her face, Brittany smiles softly and wraps her arms around Santana's stomach under the hot water. Suddenly, she feels tired. She wishes she'd listened to Santana earlier when she'd said she didn't want to go out again once they reached their motel. She can't help but feel like this was all her fault. She never wants to see Santana cry again.

"Hey," Santana says after a minute of silence. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," replies Brittany, her heart swelling with warmth at the concern in Santana's voice. "I'm just sleepy. It's been a really long day."

"Tell me about it," says Santana quietly. Brittany presses a delicate kiss into her shoulder. "Listen; I'm really sorry about earlier. I _may_ have overreacted a little and it wasn't fair of me to take it out on you."

"That's okay," Brittany whispers. She likes moments like these when Santana acts like an emotionally competent adult because sometimes Brittany can't help but worry about her state of mind. She's like...a combination of the most grown-up person Brittany has ever known but also the most childish. It's like Santana just doesn't know how to deal with negative emotions and really that could be a potential problem for their relationship. Brittany doesn't want to be on the receiving end of Santana's pent up anger ever again.

Santana's hands find there way to Brittany's knees and she runs her thumbs delicately up and down. "It's not okay," she says tiredly.

"No, it's not," Brittany agrees. "We can work on it though. And maybe keep you away from Quinn because she was being a total meanie. I think she was sad about something though and just taking it out on you. Kind of like you except I think she was doing it on purpose and you just couldn't help yourself."

A tense pause follows Brittany's words before Santana eventually forces out an awkward, "Yeah."

Brittany tightens her hold around Santana's body and rests her chin on the tanned shoulder in front of her. "Do you wanna tell me about your dad now?" she says softly into Santana's ear. She's not sure if now is the best time to bring this up again but she kind of wants some answers. Everyone they meet seems to know what's going on with Santana and it makes her feel really out the loop. She wants to help.

"Not really much to tell," Santana mutters. "He died." It's a half-hearted attempt to sway Brittany from the conversation so she figures maybe Santana isn't all that opposed to telling her about it after all.

"How?"

Santana draws in a deep breath and Brittany feels her whole body expand in her arms; then she deflates as a long sigh escapes. It's like she's mentally and physically preparing herself all at the same time.

"My mom was killed by vampires when I was a kid," Santana tells her in a small voice. "I was there when it happened." Brittany bites down on her lip to stop a small noise of distress from leaving her mouth. "So these two hunters came to see me at the hospital afterwards pretending to be the FBI and asked me a load of questions about it. My dad thought they were acting really suspicious about it so he followed them after they left. I never really found out what happened but he came back a couple of days later like...a completely different person."

"What did he do before hunting?" Brittany asks curiously.

"He was a doctor," Santana replies. "But yeah, I think he somehow convinced the guys...I don't remember their names...to explain hunting to him. He spent the next year learning everything he could about the supernatural world and that's when he became a hunter himself. He was _obsessed_, Britt. He was obsessed with finding the vampires that killed my mom because some of them escaped that day. From then on it was like _nothing_ else mattered to him but finding those creatures and making them pay." Santana says 'nothing' but Brittany knows all she's really thinking about is herself.

Brittany suddenly understands that look Santana gave her earlier in the bar when she'd said she thought the vampire thing had been a joke. It's the first time Santana has ever made her feel stupid and she thought it was weird because she's always been so patient with her before. Brittany gets it now though. It's kind of a relief. She was worried Santana was getting tired of her.

"We found a couple of them years later," Santana continues. There's an odd disconnect between herself and her words. She sounds far away even though they're really close together. "It was one of my first hunts after I left school. I wasn't really ready for it but dad insisted we had to avenge my mom." Santana paused and took in a small gulp of air. "We both almost died. It was so bad, Britt. It was like he'd forgotten everything he'd ever known about hunting and just went running in there with no plan and cleaver in hand. He completely lost his mind and it was the scariest thing I've ever been a part of. I'm all for revenge but what he did was just...not okay."

Unable to think of anything to say to say to this, Brittany kisses Santana's shoulder just to let her know she's still here for her. She really wishes she could see Santana's face because it would be a lot easier to tell how she's feeling that way. Santana has really expressive eyes.

"So yeah, early last year he tracked down the last of their pack somewhere in Arizona. I knew something was going in because he was back into one of his funks but he wouldn't tell me what was going on until we got there. When he did I was _so_ angry with him. After last time I said I was never going on a vampire hunt with him again. It just wasn't safe! I wanted to avenge my mom's death just as much as he did but not at the expense of my own life." Santana stopped again and raised a hand to brush something from her cheek. "I was so mad that I told him he could go on his own because I'd had enough of his bullshit. I'm so fucking stupid. I should have known what was going to happen. Maybe somewhere deep down I did because there's just no way he could ever have taken down three vampires without backup. But I just...let him leave anyway."

The utter desolation in Santana's breaks Brittany's heart. She blinks and feels hot tears run down her cheeks. "I'm so sorry, Santana," she says in a voice she barely recognises as her own. Santana just shrugs.

"It's my own fault. That was the last time I saw him alive...as he stormed out of my motel room screaming at the top of his voice about duty and shit." She starts shaking again and pulls her knees out of the water to press her thighs to her own chest. "I realised how selfish I was being later that night and went out to find him." She shudders. "His mangled corpse is an image I'm _never_ getting out of my head."

Brittany almost gasps in alarm. "What did you do? Did you get them?"

_A beat_. "No," says Santana quietly. "I burned his body and I left."

Brittany's heart sinks. She doesn't like the idea that these creatures are still roaming free but she feels like Santana did the right thing. "Where did you go?"

"I don't really remember," Santana admits. She raises her hand again and this time Brittany realises it's to wipe away tears. "I'm kind of hazy on the details. I know I went to see Mercedes and then went a bit crazy when she said she couldn't put me in contact with _him_. I took a shot at Kurt's favourite vase."

"You said something mean about Kurt's vase?" Brittany questions, feeling like for Santana this is quite the under reaction.

"No, I mean I literally pulled a gun on their furniture," says Santana ruefully. Brittany blinks.

"Oh...well I'm sure it deserved it?" she says, unsure of how to react.

"It was obnoxiously colourful," Santana agrees. Brittany can tell she's aiming for levity but it falls pretty short of the mark.

"What happened after that?" Brittany asks. Santana sighs.

"Nothing. I guess Mercedes spread the word that my dad had been killed because she's a gossip whore. He became kind of an authority on hunting after a while so it was kind of a big deal. I just went hunting alone after that. Then I met you," says Santana.

After this both girls fall silent, lost in their own thought. Honestly, Brittany was expecting a story like this but actually hearing it told out loud made it so much worse than she'd imagined in her head. She was secretly hoping that Santana became a hunter for the same reason she herself had rather than some desperate need for vengeance. She always knew it was too much to ask for though.

Brittany's not certain how long they sit there in the cramped little bathtub, but by the time Santana speaks again the water seems to have become sort of tepid and she's counted the number of tiles on the walls twice so it must have been a while.

"I won't let that happen to you, you know."

"Hm?" Brittany hums, a little confused.

"If you ever wanna do something and I think it's a bad idea. I won't let you go alone just because I don't like it," Santana clarifies in a small voice. "I promise I'll keep you safe."

"I know you will," Brittany tells her. And she means it. "I trust you."

Santana turns her head awkwardly and offers Brittany a strained smile. She doesn't say it aloud but Brittany can read the words, 'you shouldn't' etched into Santana's expression.

"Can we get out the bath now?" Brittany asks, squeezing Santana tightly in her arms. "I'm getting cold and I think I'm about to fall asleep."

"Yeah. I really can't rock the prune look," Santana replies, lifting her hand to show Brittany the way the pads of her fingers have gone all wrinkly. "Might be easier said than done though."

* * *

It's so late now that Brittany is sure it's going to start getting light soon, yet she still hasn't been able to sleep and it has nothing to do with the lumpy mattress she's lying on. The things Santana told her are playing over and over in her mind and now that she knows the details, horrible images have started to accompany her thoughts. She's always had an overactive imagination and the heavy rain beating against the window and occasional flash of light casting eerie shadows on the wall really isn't helping. She really misses her My Little Pony nightlight. The main problem is that she really doesn't know what to say to comfort Santana because the 'it's not your fault's don't seem to be having an impact.

Brittany sighs into Santana's chest and allows her hand to drift away from its place on Santana's hip. She lightly traces her index finger up and down three perpendicular scars on and just below Santana's ribcage. They're white and raised and as she presses her fingers down gently, she feels Santana's breath hitch and immediately stops moving. Brittany isn't the only one who hasn't been able to sleep sadly.

"Do they hurt?" she asks quietly. Santana shakes her head.

"None of them hurt anymore."

_None of the visible ones hurt anymore_, Brittany thinks as she resumes inching her fingers along Santana's stomach. She has quite a lot of them. Scars that is. Her whole body is littered in faint marks that each tell a different story. Brittany doesn't know how any of them go yet but eventually she'll get Santana to tell her each and every one. She wants to know all of Santana's secrets and she's willing to wait for them.

Brittany has scars too. She has them on her knees and one across her forearm from when Lord Tubbington got a little scratch-happy before a trip to the vet. Her fingers stroke higher and brush across a small, round patch of discoloured skin on Santana's shoulder. It feels puckered under her index finger; almost like it's never really healed properly.

She looks up to ask Santana about it, but she's facing the wall with a pained expression on her face. Or pained might not be the right word. Uncomfortable maybe. Is it because Brittany is touching her? It hasn't bothered her before. In fact, Brittany gets the impression Santana _really_ likes it when she touches her. She does now anyway; when they first met Brittany was sure Santana was on the verge of a heart attack every time their hands brushed. It was kind of adorable and just made Brittany want to touch her even more.

"That's where I got shot," says Santana, rousing Brittany from her thoughts. Her voice is hoarse and it makes Brittany want to cuddle her tighter. "It was an accident. I was supposed to be protecting this family and I'd gone to the kitchen because the kid wanted a glass of water and all the lights went off. I ran back into family room and the guy thought I was the spirit and pulled out some gun I didn't even know he had. My dad had to fish out the bullet with a pair of tweezers. Fun night."

Brittany frowns unhappily and nuzzles her nose into Santana's neck. "I'm sorry."

"Could have been worse," says Santana as she moves her own hand to rub the scar self-consciously. "He could have been a better shot. Wish it hadn't left such a big scratch though."

_Oh_. So that's what that look on her face is for. Brittany almost smiles a little. Does Santana really think that she cares about a few marks on her otherwise perfect skin? But then, she supposes Santana doesn't really see them as marks. More like flaws. A lasting consequence of every mistake she's ever made staining her body for the rest of her life.

"I like all your battle scars," says Brittany in an offhand voice. "I don't like how you got them because I think they must have hurt. I think they're super hot though."

Santana raises a dubious eyebrow at her so Brittany offers her an innocent smile. "Yeah?"

"Totally. They remind me of how much of a hero my girlfriend is." Underneath her, Santana's whole body tenses and Brittany almost panics. "What's wrong? Did I say something bad?" she asks quickly. She doesn't think she's ready for Santana to have another meltdown tonight.

Santana lets out a slow breath and shakes her head. Then she uses her own hand and traces her fingers down Brittany's spine, causing her to shiver lightly. They probably shouldn't have kicked the blankets off the bed earlier because even with their bodies pressed so close together Brittany is starting to feel cold.

It takes Santana a minute or so to answer Brittany properly, but she doesn't mind because she's sort of used to this by now. Santana seems to need time to gather her thoughts sometimes. Sometimes it takes her to long to speak that Brittany is half convinced that Santana's forgotten she's is even there.

"Is that what we are?" asks Santana finally. "Girlfriends?"

Again, Brittany almost laughs. Santana sounds so _worried_ that it's honestly hard for her not to. Considering all the things she must have seen and done in her lifetime, poor Santana panics over the silliest of things. "If we aren't then we should be," says Brittany. "We do all the girlfriendy things already."

Santana chuckles lightly. "Killing monsters together is definitely on the top of the agenda for most new couples."

"It's like our dates," Brittany adds. A bit more dangerous than the dates she used to go on though. "We hunt evil stuff and then you pay for dinner and take me back to your hotel room. It's like the most fun ever."

"Many would disagree," Santana mumbles into Brittany's hair. She doesn't seem especially happy.

"We could go on a normal person date," Brittany suggests. At this change in topic, the heavy air of misery and tension seems to lift a little.

"Do you want to?" Santana asks curiously. Brittany tilts her head so she can look at Santana's face. She looks puzzled; like she's not really sure what people do on normal people dates. For a moment, Brittany wonders if it's because she's never been to one. She finds this idea absolutely unacceptable.

"Yeah!" Brittany says happily. "We could go to the carnival." They had passed it about an hour before they got here and Brittany knew she needed to go there the second her eyes fell on it. She didn't think Santana would want to though.

A little crinkle appears in between Santana's eyebrows as she seems to contemplate this plan. Eventually, she says, "I've never been to a carnival before."

Brittany blinks. "_Never_?"

"Never really had the time," replies Santana. She doesn't even sound like she really cares.

"We have to go," says Brittany definitively. "Now."

"I love it when you get all demanding," says Santana with an amused smirk that causes Brittany's cheeks to turn pink. "One problem though; I don't think people will approve of us cavorting around in our birthday suits. Well...I guess some people might."

"That's gross," says Brittany with a frown. Then Santana's body begins to shake with suppressed laughter. "Okay so we should probably put on clothes first."

"What if I don't want to?" asks Santana. "Not gonna lie, Britt, I prefer you without clothes." Brittany doesn't really blame her for that. She's a fox.

"I guess we can stay here for a bit longer," she concedes. "Carnival probably isn't open now anyway."

"Tomorrow then?" Santana asks.

Brittany raises an eyebrow. "Are you asking me out on a date, Santana?"

"Um..." Santana stumbles over her words and Brittany can feel her breathing become shallower. It's super cute. "You want me to ask you properly?" Brittany nods her head. "Okay. Brittany...would you um...go on a date with me?"

Brittany looks up to Santana's eyes scrunched closed. Does she still think Brittany might say no after that whole conversation? She rolls her eyes at Santana's silliness and cranes her neck to kiss Santana's cheek. "I'd love to," she says softly. Santana visibly relaxes.

"Cool."

After that they finally find the sleep that has so desperately eluded them.

* * *

**Author's Note(s):** Sorry for the delay on this one. I struggle to write conversations about feelings so it took me a bit longer than usual. Thank you for reading :-)

In other thoughts - To the anonymous person who keeps sending me passive-aggressive messages on Tumblr: kindly desist. They're getting old. I'm very sorry that my lack of being American bothers you and I really do try my best to avoid having the characters speak in my own dialect. I cannot, however, ignore eighteen years of formal education to spell things in a way that would, in my country, be considered incorrect. Sorry, old chap. Cheerio.


	11. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Glee or the world in which this story is based.

**Author's Note(s): **Bonjourno :-) As always I am incredibly grateful to those of you who have read, alerted, favourited and reviewed the last chapter so thank you! I hope you enjoy this slightly shorter instalment.

**No Rest for the Wicked  
**_Chapter 9_

"Santana!" Brittany scolds as they get out the car. "Put it away."

Santana's eyes widen and she glances around. "Put what away?"

"You know what," says Brittany sternly. She slams the car door and folds her arms. "We're going to a carnival. Not a war zone."

Unwillingly, Santana pouts her lips. She's been here for less than ten seconds and they're only in the car park but she's already on edge. The childish screams floating over from the amusement park are piercing her brain. "But what if I need it?"

"What could you _possibly_ need a Glock for?" asks Brittany with genuine curiosity.

"Firstly, it's a Smith and Wesson 500. Much cooler than a Glock." Brittany rolls her eyes. "Secondly, you don't know what might happen! Did the Finncredible Hulk not tell you about that killer clown hunt he and Puck did last year?"

Brittany sighs and walks around the car towards her and stops when they're only inches away from each other. Santana swallows a little uncomfortably. "You really need to relax, Santana."

"I am relaxed," she huffs back in protest. Brittany smiles crookedly at her and runs two fingers down Santana's beloved leather jacket. Brittany had told her to wear something she wouldn't normally (to make tonight special) so she's fished out a purple dress from underneath her pile of clothes stashed in her car. She absolutely refused to take off her jacket though.

"You're freaking out," says Brittany sagely. "It's just a date. Pretend it's the same as every other day. Except unlike every other day you're gonna leave your loaded weapon in the car, okay?" Santana frowns. "I promise if we see any killer clowns you can come back and get it."

Santana sighs and Brittany obviously takes this as consent because she grips on side of Santana's jacket and holds it open so she can pull out Santana's trusty gun. "Fine," Santana mutters. "Take it."

She expects Brittany to move and put it in the trunk of the car; instead she raises an eyebrow and looks at her expectantly. "And the other one."

"I don't have a–"

"The other one, Santana!"

"Fine," Santana grumbles. She bends down and lifts up her dress slightly to reveal a small pistol strapped to her thigh. She pulls it loose and hands it reluctantly to Brittany, whose cheeks seem to have turned a little pink. "Happy?"

"Very," says Brittany brightly. Santana hands her the car keys and she practically skips around to the back of the car and deposits the guns safely in the trunk. She can't help but feel a little naked without them. Oh well, she _probably_ won't need them anyway.

With a cheerful smile that makes Santana's stomach flip, Brittany bounds back over to her and holds out a hand which after only a moments hesitation, she takes in her own. It's already dark out now because they ended up spending longer in their motel room than planned so Santana hopes Brittany doesn't notice the blush rising on her cheeks. It was bad enough three weeks ago but now it's just damned embarrassing.

"Ready?" asks Brittany. Santana just nods because she doesn't trust herself to speak and Brittany immediately sets off towards the entrance.

She honestly can't believe she's here right now. With the prettiest girl alive. On a _date_. Santana doesn't _date_. She never stays in one place longer than a couple of weeks so dating has never been an option before, and even if it had she's not sure she'd have taken it. She's never really thought herself the type before. Mutually beneficial arrangements, as Puck liked to call it, were more her style of hook-up. Travelling around the country with her father who tended to terrify most people shitless didn't really help her standing with potential suitors either. One time they'd met up with one of her father's friends, Rod, for a hunt. At some point poor Rod must have ogled at her one too many times because ten minutes later her father had _accidentally _shot him in the leg. An honest mistake, her father had claimed. At the time it felt nice that her dad had protected her; she only later came to realise it was more about him defending his property rather than his daughter.

So, the need to pinch herself lingers in the back of her mind to make sure she's not dreaming. If it is a dream, she really hopes she never wakes up from it. It's just that sometimes she can't help but feel like Brittany is too good to be true. Isn't this what genies do? Trick you into thinking you have the perfect life while they slowly drain your life force? Hm, she'll have to look into this one. Just in case.

They reach the person manning the entrance (old guy, white hair, probably been working at this place since the dawn of time) and she hands over what she believes to be an extortionate amount of money.

"And this will get us on all the rides?" Brittany questions as the man hands them two rolls orange tickets.

"Sure thing, ma'am," he says with an almost toothless grin. "Now you girls go and have yourself a good time!"

"We will," Brittany calls back as Santana begins to drag her through the gate. She can only look at the dude's hideous yellow and white striped t-shit for so long before it starts to burn through her retinas. She quickly realises as they step into the fenced off area that a brightly coloured item of clothing is going to be the least of her worries.

The first thing that hits her is the strong scent of...sweet. Popcorn? Cotton candy? Whatever it is, it's so strong it's pretty much blocking out all her other senses. Beside her, Brittany squeals with excitement and bounces on the balls of her feet.

"Where should we go first?" asks Brittany with untamed enthusiasm.

"Um..." Santana trails off and moves her eyes from one brightly lit monstrosity to the next. It's kind of hard to think with that cacophony of accordion music blaring throughout the entire area. "What do you want to do?" She waits for Brittany to answer but she seems to have been distracted by a young boy and girl fighting over a bright green frog toy with a harassed looking woman trailing behind them. "Britt?"

"I wanna go on that!" Brittany points, naturally, to the biggest rollercoaster at the carnival. Santana gulps. She can only see the top of it peering over the different stalls and attractions but it looks pretty high.

"Okay," she replies weakly. Brittany beams at her and they set off in the direction of, what Santana discovers along the way, is called 'The Big One'. As they get closer, Santana can't help but noticed that the colour of the tracks, which once appears to have been yellow, seems to have mostly flaked away to be replaced with dingy rust. "Are you sure this thing's safe?" she asks cautiously.

Brittany shoots her a surprised look. "Duh. Of course it's safe." Santana makes a small noise of acknowledgement but otherwise doesn't reply. "You're not scared are you?"

A nervous laugh escapes Santana's lips. "Of course not." Her heart beats this quickly all the time.

"You look pretty pale," Brittany observes.

"It's just the lighting in this place," Santana replies. Brittany's lip quirks upwards into a smirk.

"You're totally scared!" Brittany laughs loudly and Santana feels her face heat up. "Seriously? After _everything_ you've done in your life and a little rollercoaster frightens you?"

"I think you're missing the point," Santana argues. "After everything I've done in my life can you even imagine how embarrassing it would be for me to die because of a faulty fairground ride? I want to go out in a blaze of glory, Britt-Britt. Not falling out of a tiny car five-hundred feet in the air and splattering on the ground."

If anything, Brittany's smile grows wider. "Two-hundred feet," she corrects, and Santana rolls her eyes. "We don't have to go on if you don't want to." Suddenly, Brittany's smile morphs into a pout.

"I...I didn't say I wouldn't go on it," Santana rushes to appease her. "Of course I will." And the smile is back. She can do this. It's just a rollercoaster, right? The likelihood of her falling to her death is really small. Probably.

"Perfect!"

They arrive at their destination and Brittany pulls her into the relatively short queue. Santana can't quite shake the feeling that she's just been manipulated somehow but with that happy expression adorning Brittany's face she finds it difficult to mind all that much. She's looking particularly adorable today in her black shorts and suspenders covering a black and white t-shirt with a large, metallic heart shape on the front. Ugh...did she just think the word adorable? Gross. Or is that allowed now? Brittany is her...the g-word now after all. Kurt and Mercedes are going to be thrilled when she tells them. If she tells them. Mercedes probably already knows though...that bitch.

As they get closer to the front of the line, Santana kicks her foot uncomfortably against the muddy ground. How are all these screaming kids so excited to be going on this death trap?

"Come on." Brittany tugs insistently on her hand. Oh good. It's their turn.

Santana hands their tickets over to whoever it is posted at the controls (she doesn't really see them through the thick haze clouding over her mind) and allows Brittany to steer her to the front row of the car and then push her down into the seat. Brittany laughs giddily but it falls on deaf ears as Santana stares up the hill they're about to climb. Heights...are not her favourite thing in the world.

"It's going to be fine, Santana. You'll have fun!" Brittany tells her.

She's wrong.

Santana doesn't have fun.

She keeps her eyes firmly closed and her mouth clamped shut.

* * *

When the ride is over and Brittany can feel the warm rush of adrenaline coursing through her veins, she spares a glance at Santana and her smile drops. She's so tense she doesn't even seem to realise they've stopped moving. _Oh_...she really thought Santana would enjoy that once it started.

The restraints holding them in place are released and Brittany sees Santana's eyes shoot open in panic. Her skin looks paler than Brittany remembers it being.

"It's over," Brittany says. Santana turns to look at her uncomprehendingly. "The ride...we can get up now."

Santana's mouth forms an 'o' shape and she looks left at the two boys impatiently waiting at the side for them to move so they can take their place.

"Come on, honey," Brittany prompts. She jumps to her feet and holds out her hand to Santana, who still looks dazed and unfocussed. "Up!"

Santana reaches up and let's Brittany pull her forward and towards the exit. Brittany can't help but feel horribly guilty...but come on. How was she supposed to know Santana was gonna be a giant fraidy cat? She like...actively searches for things that want to kill her on a daily basis. Being in a really fast car (that goes upside down and super high) shouldn't even be a blip on Santana's fear factor radar. Personally, Brittany loved being able to see the whole fairground from really high. It made all the multi-coloured lights look even cooler. Like a mostly yellow rainbow that's not really shaped like a rainbow.

Brittany leads Santana over to an empty corner; the rollercoaster is right at the back so they're right near where it's all fenced off from the outside world. They stop and Brittany waves a hand in front of Santana's face.

"Are you still in there?" she asks curiously.

There's a short pause and then: "Of course," Santana squeaks in a voice Brittany has never heard her use before. She looks like she might cry. "That was...um...fun."

"Yeah?" Brittany asks, suppressing an amused grin. "You wanna go on it again?"

A look of sheer terror crosses Santana's face making Brittany feel guilty again. She opens her arms and pulls Santana into a tight embrace. As always, Santana hesitates just a little before wrapping her own arms around Brittany's waist like she's not entirely sure how to respond.

"I'm just kidding," Brittany says as softly as she can while still being overheard by the loud music being played throughout the area. Santana laughs a little hysterically at this and pulls back. "I'm sorry I made you go on."

"It's okay," Santana shrugs. The colour seems to have returned to her face which is a relief. "It wasn't so bad." A blatant lie but Brittany nods anyway and smiles lightly. "What do you want to do now?"

Brittany thinks for a minute; after she's just forced Santana to do something she obviously didn't want to she needs to think of something to make it up to her. Something that she'll definitely enjoy...

"Let's go look at the game stalls," says Brittany cheerfully. Santana just nods and allows Brittany to grip her hand and pull her away back towards the entrance.

The atmosphere in this place is so awesome. Everyone is so uninhibited and cheerful in a way that's totally infectious. Well...except for that little boy she can see vomiting into trashcan next to the Hook-a-Duck stall. He's probably not all that happy anymore. Gross. He seems to be gripping a hotdog wrapper in his hand so she'll make sure to keep away from those. Not that she wants one anyway; she's still full from her delicious dinner of spaghetti and meatballs. It had been a nice change from the cheap diners they usually eat at.

It takes a couple of minutes for Brittany to find what she's looking for and it takes all of her will power not to run to everything she sees (she's definitely going on those Teacups later and she wants at least two sticks of cotton candy) but when she does she feels her eyes light up and she shoots Santana a pleased look.

"Found something you wanna do?" asks Santana lightly. She seems more relaxed now that they're further away from the epic rollercoaster of epic.

"Yep," she replies happily. She squeezes Santana's hand and pulls her over to a brightly lit red and blue stall with a background of moving targets shaped like ducks and birds. The lanky brown-haired man behind the wooden table eyes them impassively. He has a name tag that says 'Blade' on it. It must be a carnival name or something because Brittany doesn't think anyone would actually name their baby 'Blade'. Unless he was a vampire hunter.

"Step right up, ladies!" he deadpans when neither of them speak.

"A rifle range?" Santana asks with evident surprise. Brittany smiles and swings their hands between them.

"I want a unicorn," Brittany informs her, scanning the cuddly toy selection hanging from the netting along the side walls.

Santana chuckles, obviously now fully recovered from her earlier scare. "Sure." She then turns to guy running the booth. "How many do I have to hit?"

"Five out of eight, ma'am," replies the guy with an easy southern drawl. A small smirk crosses Santana's face as she hands over the money and Brittany knows this was a good idea. Giving Santana the opportunity to show off is a genius plan even if she does say so herself.

Santana is given the rifle and holds it with a moment of confusion. Brittany guesses it's not as heavy as she's used to or something. Did Santana really think they were going to give her a real 'gonna be able to kill people with this' gun in the middle of an amusement park? She doesn't complain though, much to Brittany's surprise, and aims easily and _shoot_, one, _shoot_, two, _shoot_, three, _shoot_, four ducks are down.

"These are corks," Santana mutters under her breath and Brittany laughs at the disappointment in her voice. Santana's unholy attachment to her weapons has been a source of endless amusement (and mild horror) for Brittany. Last week she'd realised that Santana was actually keeping a handgun under her pillow when they slept; she appreciates how dangerous their life is now but _that _is a special kind of paranoia. They'd ended up compromising with the gun being stored in the drawer next to their bed so it's easily in reach but Brittany is less likely to accidentally get shot in the head. Santana was _not_ happy about it though.

Looking a little surprised, the man behind the counter hands her more 'bullets' and Santana reloads her 'gun'. "Just one more and the prize is yours," he tells her.

Santana offers Brittany a smug grin and a wink that makes Brittany's heart beat just a little bit faster.

Then _shoot_, five, _shoot_, six, _shoot_, seven, _shoot_, eight.

"And we have a winner!" the man announces loudly. Brittany bounces up and down in glee before throwing herself into Santana's arms.

"Yay!" Brittany yells and Santana laughs. Like, _actually_ laughs instead of that vaguely reserved chuckle she usually does. It gives Brittany a thrill of joy and right there and then she decides to make it her life's mission to do whatever she can to make Santana laugh like that again.

They separate and Brittany points at one of the white unicorns (it has a sparkly gold horn which is pretty much the coolest thing ever) and the man smiles lightly and pulls it down from the wall. "Congratulations, ma'am," he says as he hands the prize to Brittany.

"This is so awesome," she gushes. Then she leans forward to capture Santana's lips in a brief kiss. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," replies Santana rather bashfully. In moments like these Brittany feels like she catching a glimpse of what Santana could have been if she hadn't been thrown into a life of death and danger. Still _kind of_ a badass but just a bit softer around the edges. Maybe even a little bit of a goof.

"What should we call him?" Brittany asks, threading their fingers together and pulling Santana away from the stall to meander along with the noisy crowd.

"Call him?" Santana repeats, her eyebrows scrunching together in thought.

"Yeah. He needs a name, Santana," Brittany says, clutching the unicorn to her chest with her free hand. "How else will he know when we're talking to him?" Santana looks a little dubious at this but nods her head anyway. "We could name him after Kurt because he's a unicorn too."

"Veto," says Santana firmly.

"I don't really like Veto."

"No...I mean...I don't think we should call him Kurt," Santana clarifies. Brittany chuckles; it was worth a try. "How about Wesson?"

"We're not naming my unicorn after a gun manufacturer," says Brittany. She gives Santana a light shove which earns her a small grin. "You seriously have a problem."

"I do not!" Santana protests weakly. Brittany raises an eyebrow and shakes her head.

They continue their way through the brightly lit carnival until Brittany spots bright pink stall with the words 'Cotton Candy' scrawled across the top. She grins and tugs Santana in it's general direction. It's been like twenty-four hours since she had her last massive sugar hit so it's time to stock up. They'd gone to a nice restaurant for dinner and had ended up being two hours late because Santana decided they should make more use of their motel room first. Brittany didn't want to miss the carnival so they hadn't had time for dessert much to her devastation.

"What can I get you, ladies?" asks the kindly old woman behind the counter. Brittany's eyes flicker down to her name tag. _Hermione_. Hm.

"Cotton candy, please," says Brittany happily. Out of the corner of her eye she sees Santana look at her fondly.

"One or two?" asks the woman.

"One," Santana says and Brittany pouts at her. "What? I'll just try some of yours."

"But it's so pink and fluffy," Brittany whines.

"That's what scares me," says Santana. Brittany rolls her eyes. Santana is super weird sometimes. She forgives her though when Santana pulls some money from her pocket to pay for the tasty treat Brittany has just chosen. The woman thanks them and Brittany spins around so they can continue their exploration.

"I've picked a name," Brittany announces after she's taken a chunk from her fluffy ball of sugar.

"Oh?"

"Hermione," Brittany tells her. Santana looks at her, confused.

"I thought you said it was a boy."

"He is a boy," replies Brittany. "He's transgender."

"Transgender," Santana repeats faintly.

"Uh huh," Brittany agrees, pulling Hermione close to her chest once more. "She identifies as a boy but still really likes her given name."

"Um...right..."

"Santana," Brittany scolds. "You should be more supportive. When you use that tone it hurts his feelings. He's our unicorn."

Santana's eyes widen like she's really not sure if Brittany is being serious or not right now. Brittany just smiles innocently and presses her tongue against her cotton candy, enjoying the way it melts in her mouth. Santana visibly gulps and Brittany makes a mental note to text Mercedes about this later. She still hasn't told her that Santana agreed to be her girlfriend yet and she promised to keep in touch. Or maybe Mercedes already knows? She is psychic after all. She'll text her anyway just in case she hasn't heard yet.

Before Santana can think of a reply (Brittany assumes that she's going to apologise to Hermione but now she'll probably never know) a loud ringing sound distracts them both. Brittany gazes at Santana in confusion; she's never heard that phone she carries around in her jacket pocket ring before. Looking equally confused, Santana pulls out the phone and looks at the screen. When she sees the name her eyebrows shoot up.

"Who is it?" Brittany questions. Santana told her a while ago that she only gives out her number to other hunters or people she's helped who might need to contact her again. She said that the second group of people never call her but it helps them to feel safer knowing they can contact her whenever they want just in case they get attacked by ghosts again or some other creepy creature. Brittany thinks that maybe the phone belonged to Santana's dad but she's never said so out loud.

"Nobody I want to speak to," Santana replies coldly. She presses the little button with the red phone on it and the ringing stops.

"Isn't it half past ten? Why would someone call you now? Is someone in trouble?" Brittany asks rapidly. All the joviality from earlier seems to have leaked from Santana's body and it gives Brittany a sickly feel in the pit of her stomach.

"It's Quinn," says Santana in that same toneless voice. "Not really interested in why she's calling."

She pockets her phone and Brittany eyes her warily. She doesn't like Quinn either but she can't help but feel like she wouldn't call unless there was a really good reason. Unless she's just calling to apologise for yesterday; somehow she doesn't think that's likely though. Brittany is optimistic though so maybe she really is just sorry.

"What do you wanna do now?" Santana asks. She sounds kind of annoyed.

"We could–"

Brittany is cut off when Santana's phone starts to ring again. "Fuck off, Fabray," Santana mutters darkly and Brittany pulls her unicorn closer to her chest.

"Maybe you should answer it," Brittany says tentatively. Why would Quinn call twice unless it's important?

Santana lets a long puff of air from her lips and shakes her head with annoyance. The mood between them has already dropped so the rest of their night is going to be less fun anyway regardless of whether or not she answers the phone. Once again, Santana withdraws the phone from her pocket. Obviously she's not the only one who feels like Quinn wouldn't call unless she had a very good reason.

Santana shakes her head in annoyance and brings the phone to her ear.

"What do you want, Fabray?" she barks into the receiver. Brittany flinches at her harsh tone even though it isn't directed at her. There's a pause and Brittany studies Santana's face for some kind of clue about what's being said to her. She almost doesn't notice the way she pales and clutches the phone just a little tighter between her fingers. "If this is a joke it's really not funny." A beat. "No. That can't be right," Santana says. "It's fucking impossible." Brittany really wishes she could hear both sides of the conversation. "Then tell her to stop screeching like a banshee!" There's a longer pause this time during which Santana begins to shake her head in disbelief. "I'll be there in an hour."

Santana disconnects the call and looks at Brittany with large, bewildered eyes.

"What's wrong?" asks Brittany, a horrible feeling of foreboding rising in her stomach.

It takes Santana a moment to collect her thoughts, and when she finally does it doesn't even sound like she believes what she's saying. "We need to head back to the Roadhouse. _Now_."

* * *

**Author's Note(s): **This chapter is a bit shorter than previous chapters have been I'm afraid. This was the most natural break in the story though and I wanted something nice to happen before less nice things happen! I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless. Thank you for reading :-)


	12. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Glee or the world in which this story is based.

**Author's Note(s): **Evenin' :-) Thanks for all the reviews and hits for the last chapter, guys! I'm glad you enjoyed it. I hope you enjoy this next one just as much! Ciao ciao ciao.

**No Rest for the Wicked  
**_Chapter 10_

She probably breaks about ten different speed limits on her way, but Santana and Brittany make it back to the Roadhouse in record time. The whole way there she can feel Brittany giving her worried looks, utterly confused about what's going on, but until she's there and has seen it for herself she refuses to believe what Quinn told her is true. There's still a possibility this is all a sick joke. Unlikely (Quinn has no sense of humour), but sometimes it pays to be an optimist. Or at least so she's heard. She hasn't had much experience of it herself.

Before they even get there though it becomes clear that Quinn hadn't been lying. She can see the billows of smoke rising in the distance, blotting out the sky, and her stomach twists.

"Well fuck," says Santana faintly.

It takes them another ten minutes to arrive at their destination and she parks a little way down the gravely road so they aren't too close to the danger zone. She can see who she assumes to be Quinn and two other people stood not too far ahead so she quickly exists the car, hardly even aware of Brittany trailing worriedly behind her. So much for date night.

"Well you took your sweet time," Quinn comments without bite as they draw close, but Santana ignores her.

Her full attention is on the burning mess just a few metres in front of her. How could this have happened? She feels a sharp pain in her arm and briefly glances sideways to see Brittany with her mouth agape and gripping onto her tightly, fingernails digging into skin. Santana swallows and dimly registers the noisy sobs emitting from the mouth of one Rachel Berry. For once, Santana can't even bring herself to reprimand Rachel for her theatrics. In this instance it might be warranted. The Roadhouse isn't...wasn't...just a bar. It's a symbol. A place were untethered hunters can go to feel like there's somewhere they belong. It's a massive loss to the community.

"Were people still inside?" asks Brittany in a hushed voice. Her only answer is the way Rachel's wails become louder and frighteningly more hysterical. Santana's stomach lurches and bile rises to her throat. So many good hunters...

"What the hell happened?" Santana demands when nobody seems to be forthcoming with an explanation. The three girls turn to look at her and Santana's eyebrows furrow when she recognises the teenager she and Brittany spotted yesterday outside the building. She looks absolutely terrified but oddly seems to calm a little when her eyes fall on Brittany and in turn, Santana. In fact, an odd little smile plays about her mouth. Freak.

"Demons," says Quinn succinctly. "Lots of them."

Santana cringes as a loud bang resonates towards them. The final wooden beams holding the Roadhouse upright bows and bends until what's left of the building crashes down to the ground, forcing a wave of ash and smoke to hurtle in their direction. Rachel lets another shriek and latches onto Quinn's arm for support as the air becomes thicker. With a disgusted look, Quinn tries to shake her off to no avail.

"How did you get away?" asks Brittany softly.

Quinn shrugs and brings a hand to her face to brush away a few strands of hair that have fallen out of place. "We weren't actually there."

"I'd gone to stock up on peanuts," Rachel sobs, speaking for the first time. "Peanuts! They saved my life." Santana rolls her eyes at the woman's dramatics. "I took Sugar with me because she looked like she needed something to eat!" Santana's eyes fall on the girl, whom she assumes must be Sugar. Who the hell crazy person calls their kid 'Sugar'? "I've felt weird all day! I _knew_ something was going to happen." Once more, Santana rolls her eyes. Rachel perpetually claims to be a 'little bit psychic' despite all evidence to the contrary. "I got back and I saw all the fighting and I knew I had to keep Sugar safe so we hid and I called Quinn."

Quinn licks her lips and gives a jerky nod of her head. Her face is hard and expressionless. "I got here just in time to see the entire place explode and a hoard of black smoke disappear into the distance."

"Fuck," Santana mutters.

"Black smoke from the fire?" asks Brittany, confusion evident in her tone.

"Black smoke is how demons travel around," says Santana tonelessly. "They can't actually do anything in that state though. The only way they can act is if they're possessing somebody."

Brittany's eyes widen in horror and she digs her nails even harder into Santana's bicep.

"Rachel," says Santana faintly. "Was Matt..."

"Still inside," Rachel gasps out with a nod, tears streaming down her face. Santana closes her eyes and sucks in a deep breath, barely stopping a cough as she inhales thin smoke. She hadn't known Matt very well; nobody really did, but Santana had once found comfort in his easy smile and sad eyes as she tried to drown her memories in alcohol.

"Mike and Tina?" she presses, fear gripping at her heart.

"They left yesterday," Rachel tells her. A lump grows in Santana's throat and she squeezes her hands into fists. _Thank God_...

For a little while, the small group just watch the giant bonfire destroy the last remnants of Rachel's home. It's an odd thing to notice at the time but Santana can't help but admit there's a certain beauty in the way the flames lick the debris, desperately trying to reach for the sky.

"What are we going to do, Santana?" asks Brittany quietly after an interminable amount of time has passed. It takes every ounce of Santana's willpower to drag her eyes away from the destruction. It's hard to believe not two hours ago they were playfully debating on a name for a stuffed animal. Okay so it was more Brittany spouting ideas and Santana trying to conceal her general bewilderment, but still.

"We need to stop the bitch, obviously," Quinn answers for her. Santana shoots a glare the woman's way before looking back to Brittany. She needs time to think before she can answer this question.

"We need to regroup," she says after a moment. "This is...bigger than I expected. The bar was full of fully trained hunters. Things shouldn't have gone down the way it did."

"What are you suggesting?" Quinn questions her, eyebrow raised with an almost defiant look on her face.

Santana pauses for a moment as words spoken by none other than Mercedes Jones seem to drift through her consciousness. "I'm suggesting we call in every favour we're owed and get every hunter we can together." Quinn purses her lips. "This is too big for just us. I don't know about you but I haven't got a fucking clue where to start with this one. We need help." Brittany looks at her rather proudly.

Still, Quinn seems reluctant and tension mounts. "And say we do all this? Where exactly are we going to go?"

Yeah, that's a good question.

"Abrams's," Santana says after a minute of silence. "He's got himself a supernatural library hidden around that cabin."

Quinn seems to consider this for a moment and Santana uses the time to take in the dishevelled appearances of her new companions. Rachel has stopped wailing but tears still flow freely down her face; Santana almost feels a little sorry for her. The other girl...Sugar...seems to be in some serious shock and awe. At the moment she's gazing at Brittany with wide, innocent eyes. It might be sweet if it wasn't quite so disturbing.

"Who the hell _are_ you?" Santana asks suspiciously. She remembers the strange man in the trench coat and the way he disappeared in the blink of an eye. How can they be sure that _she_ didn't have anything to do with this mess?

Sugar's mouth drops open and her eyes dart to look at Santana. She looks absolutely shocked that Santana is directly addressing her. "I'm Sh...Sugar," she says, her voice pitchy and frightened.

"Sugar _what_?" Santana probes.

The girl's eyes widen. "Just Sugar. I don't...I don't have a last name," she squeaks. Santana raises a sceptical eyebrow and glances at Brittany, who's head is cocked to one side in confusion.

"Okay..." says Santana cautiously. "And how old are you exactly? It kinda looks like it's past your bedtime. Your parents are okay with you being out this late?"

Sugar's eyes drop to the ground and she kicks her foot against the ground. "I'm eighteen," she mumbles. "I can do what I like."

"Liar," says Santana immediately. You don't spend years interrogating people and not pick up a few tricks; Santana can always tell when someone is telling the truth or not. Sugar's brow scrunches together in annoyance and even in the smoky darkness Santana sees her cheeks take on a pink hue.

"I'm sixteen okay!" she snaps, then she clamps her hand over her mouth and looks at Santana in horror. "Sorry. Asperger's." God, this chick is really weird.

"Where are your parents?" This time it's Brittany who asks. "You should really go home or they'll be worried."

Sugar lifts her head and looks at Brittany desperately. "They're not here," she says after a moment. "I have nowhere else to go. I'm staying with you guys."

"You are not!" snaps Quinn, the thoughtful expression on her face disappearing. "Where the hell did you get this kid from, Berry?"

"She asked to sleep at the Roadhouse last night, Quinn. What was I supposed to do? Make her sleep on the streets?" Rachel retorts, the bite in her voice lost through the tears.

"Don't send me away," Sugar begs. She reaches forward and grips onto the sleeve on Santana's jacket, but she quickly lets go when Santana glares at her. "I can hunt. I can help you. My mom taught me to defend myself as soon as I could walk."

She looks at them all hopefully. "And why did she do that?" Santana asks, still a little dubious.

"So I can help her hunt," Sugar says as though it's the most obvious thing in the world. "Duh." Santana can tell she's lying again.

Before Santana can question the girl further, Quinn lets out a loud huff. "We don't have time for this. We should go to Abrams' house and talk about our next move." A smug comment is on the tip of Santana's tongue but Quinn keeps talking. "We should get going now because I refuse to be a step behind this bitch any longer. We can argue about the kid later." Sugar looks deeply affronted at being referred to as 'the kid'.

Santana wants to argue purely because it's Quinn making the suggestion but this attack has been a massive escalation on what so far has only been isolated events. Sue is moving a lot quicker than Santana had anticipated and the churning in her stomach is telling her they need to get moving as soon as possible. As a hunter she'd learnt fairly quickly to always follow her instincts because nine times out of ten they're spot on.

"Fine."

* * *

As it turns out, 'every hunter we can get' isn't actually as high a number as Santana had anticipated. The Changs are already in the middle of another hunt and claim they can't leave, and Santana definitely doesn't miss the subtext of, 'and even if we could we wouldn't come'. She knows they only really have experience with vampires so the whole demon thing is admittedly out of their comfort zone. It is for all of them though so Santana doesn't really see this as a viable excuse. Puck and Finn are on their way, however, although she's not entirely convinced they'll be a help rather than a hindrance. She's also contacted one of the handful of people in the world she actually considers a friend so at least there'll be someone there on her side.

Beside her, Brittany yawns loudly and rests her cheek against the cold car window. Santana smiles briefly.

"Why don't you try and get some sleep, Britt?" Santana suggests. Brittany blinks owlishly.

"You're not sleeping," she points out.

"I'm driving. If I was sleeping this journey would be a lot less safe," replies Santana. Brittany doesn't look amused. "It's okay, Britt. I don't need that much sleep and it's only another five hours until we get there. Besides, the kid's still awake. I won't be up on my own." Santana takes a hand of the steering wheel to jerk a thumb in Sugar's direction in the back of the car.

"I'm not a kid!" Sugar protests, crossing her arms over her chest. Santana's sure if she was standing up she would have stamped her foot too.

Brittany turns her head to look at the girl again. When they finally gathered themselves enough to leave what remains of the Roadhouse, Sugar had been absolutely insistent that she ride in the car with Brittany and Santana rather than Quinn and Rachel. Santana had protested, obviously, but Brittany decided she suddenly felt sorry for her and convinced Santana it was a good idea.

It wasn't a good idea.

Sugar has spent the last two hours staring at them in turn through the car mirrors and it's really starting to freak Santana out. The worst part is whenever she and Brittany say anything to each other, the kid tilts her head to one side like she's literally hanging on every word that comes out of their mouths. It's weird. And invasive. Santana isn't sure she really wants people knowing about her relationship status with Brittany yet so she's kept quiet so far. She has a reputation to maintain after all. Brittany, however, just as she always has, refuses to show any kind of restraint when it comes to public displays of affection. Santana is already on edge and this really isn't helping to calm her down.

She really can't afford to spend the next few days looking after some sixteen year old that Rachel Berry picked up off the street. She needs to focus on keeping her and Brittany safe while they put a stop to the hoard of demons hell-bent (no pun intended) on ending their lives. Not to mention all the other hunters. The world might not know it but they _need_ as many hunters alive as possible.

Santana sighs. "Whatever you say, kid."

Sugar huffs and Brittany turns her head back so she's facing forward once more. "It's okay," says Brittany. "I want to stay awake with you. It was supposed to be date night..." She trails off unhappily and Santana finds herself hoping Brittany isn't mad at her for this turn of events.

"Yeah but we can have date night another time. You know, assuming we survive the night," says Santana in an off-hand voice. Based on the horrified look on Brittany's face, her tasteless joke is not appreciated. "Hey, I was just kidding. Of course we're gonna survive this thing. Hellion demonic super-powered guerrilla soldiers aren't going to stand a chance against us." That had sounded better in her head.

Brittany shoots her another unimpressed look and Santana swears she hears Sugar muttering something about how socially awkward she is.

"Seriously, Britt, you'll feel better if you get some sleep," Santana continues. She needs time to think about things and she can't really do it with Brittany's sad eyes pointed in her direction. She's a distraction and right now Santana needs to focus her attention on getting them through this alive.

"I'll sleep when you sleep," says Brittany stubbornly. Santana sucks in a deep breath to try and suppress her irritation; she knows Brittany just wants to help and doesn't deserve her annoyance. Is this personal growth? Considering the feelings of another human being before reacting? After a moment of consideration, Santana feels inordinately proud of herself. It doesn't stop her from wishing Brittany would stop staring at her though.

"Okay," says Santana finally. Somewhere underneath her displeasure, she can feel a small thrum of pleasure at the idea that Brittany is willing to ignore her own exhaustion just to keep Santana company.

Okay she's really going to have to stop it with all this sappy shit or she'll never live it down.

"Where the hell are we going anyway?" asks a shrill voice from the back of the car. Santana rolls her eyes and shakes her head. Way to ruin the moment, Sugar.

"I already told you," says Santana impatiently. "We're going to see an expert."

Seemingly unimpressed with her answer, Sugar leans back and folds her arms with a dramatic huff.

* * *

By the time they pull up in the scrap yard, both of Santana's travelling partners are fast asleep and snoring softly. At the sight of Brittany curled up into a ball and leaning against the car door, Santana can't help but wish with a heavy heart that she could just take her away from all of this and lock them both up somewhere safe to live out the rest of their days in peace. Brittany really doesn't deserve to have to put up with this shit because of Santana's sense of honour or whatever it is that compels her to commit to this war. She sighs deeply and does a quick scan of the area as best she can in the poor lighting.

She can see Quinn's car just a few feet away from her own so she and Rachel must already be inside. Puck's car could be around somewhere too but it's a lot more difficult to pick out his vehicle amongst the scrap metal and junk that's already lying around. It could easily be hidden by one of the piles of cars stacked together around the grimy wasteland.

Santana licks her lips and turns off the engine. The sooner they get this over with the sooner they can find somewhere decent to sleep because Santana really does not want to nap in her car tonight. Although, based on the peeking shade of orange somewhere in the distant sky it's probably closer to morning at this point. Date night turned out to be a complete and utter failure then. She should have known it was all too good to last.

The sudden quiet of the engine seems to rouse Brittany from her light slumber and she groans unhappily against the window. "We there?" she mumbles.

"Yeah," Santana replies, feeling a strange rush of fondness when Brittany's brow furrows in response and she wraps her arms more tightly around herself. "We can go find a motel now if you want and come back in the morning?"

Brittany groans unhappily and shakes her head. "No, 'm'up."

"You seem like you are," Santana remarks, noting the way Brittany still hasn't even attempted to open her eyes. She turns her head to observe the teenager still sleeping across the back seat. "Yo! Sugar! Wake your fat ass up!"

The girl whines and raises her arms to cover her eyes despite the lack of lights. "Five more minutes, mom."

Santana rolls her eyes. "Not quite, kid." Sugar seems to grumble for a little while longer before forcing herself into an upright position and looking at Santana warily.

"What are we doing in this dump?" she all but shrieks when the confusion in her eyes clears she finally takes in their surroundings. At this, Brittany finally pries her eyes open to see what Sugar is looking at. She too seems a little bewildered.

"For the third time," Santana says impatiently, "we're here to see a guy about some demons. Comprende?"

"And he lives in a junk yard?" asks Brittany as she wipes a little drool from her chin.

Santana shrugs and opens the car door. "We all gots to make a living somehow. Auto repair is as good as anything."

"If you say so," says Sugar dubiously. She glances down at her nails. "I don't believe in manual labour."

Santana opens her mouth to reply to this but then thinks better of it. Maybe if they're lucky the kid'll get lost somewhere and then they won't have to deal with her. This is a pretty big place and it's like a mile from town so they can be gone before she even reaches a phone. Ugh. She really does not want to play fucking babysitter.

It takes a minute or so but eventually Santana manages to usher her sleepy companions from the car. Surely she's the one who should be on the cusp of collapse and not the two who slept for pretty much the entire drive?

"This place could do with a gardener," Sugar comments as they make their way over to the large, dull grey house that can only be seen because of the lights shining through one of the windows. "Maybe a hoard of gardeners." She looks distastefully at the overgrown weeds underfoot and Santana rolls her eyes. Artie can hardly be blamed for his land falling into disrepair.

Really, Santana feels like the whole place has a certain charm to it. Not exactly what she'd call _homey_ but she's been to worse places. _Much_ worse.

They reach the door and Santana offers a nervous looking Brittany a small smile before knocking loudly. Well, as loudly as she thinks she's able; the door looks like a stiff wind will break it down so she tries not to be too rough.

It takes only a few seconds for the door to be swung open but the person stood there is not who she was expecting. It's someone far _far_ worse.

"All right, Santana," says a cheery Irish voice. "Quinn said you were coming."

"Oh sweet Jesus, what are you doing here?" Santana asks, slapping a hand to her forehead. As if this situation couldn't get any worse.

Rory's smile fades a little. "I live here now. And might I say, Santana, you're looking awfully fine this evening." Santana cringes and glances down at the tight dress she's still wearing. Ugh. Should have changed before coming here.

"That's gross," Sugar comments, and for once Santana can't help but agree with her.

"Let's save the chitchat for later, Irish," Santana says, brushing past him with Brittany trailing behind her.

She steps into the wide hallway and raises an eyebrow at the peeling wallpaper. Sugar begins to mutter about an interior decorator she knows and Brittany takes a step forward to grip Santana's arm.

"Kitchen or library?" Santana questions Rory without turning around. She knows that's where Artie likes to conduct his business.

"Kitchen," Rory supplies, so Santana turns right and leads Brittany down the hall to a large door. On their way they have to sidestep several stacks of various sized books. She briefly wonders if Kurt has been here recently because he'd probably spontaneously orgasm if he saw all these old tomes lying about. If she ever gets around to calling Ebony and Ivory maybe she'll let him know.

They reach the kitchen area and without knocking, Santana pushes the door open and pulls Brittany along with her. The five people sat around a worn mahogany kitchen table turn to look at her with varying levels of exhaustion.

"Nice of you to finally join us," Quinn is the first to remark. "Stop for a makeover on the way?"

"Ha ha ha," says Santana dryly. She still feels a lingering anger at Quinn for what she'd said to Brittany in the Roadhouse but now really isn't the time to hash it out with her. "Very amusing."

Without greeting anybody else in the room, she directs a nervous looking Brittany forward and ushers her down into the chair she assumes belonged to Rory and then perches in the empty one next to it. Sugar can do whatever the hell she wants; unless her desire is to continue staring at she and Brittany as though she's seen a ghost, in which case Santana very much takes issue with it.

"Hey, girl," Artie greets with a nod of his head.

"Professor X," Santana replies. He responds with a rather bitter smile and pushes a pair of thick rimmed glasses up his nose. "What did I miss?"

"Nothing," Finn answers for her. "We only just got here." He and Puck both look tired. They probably came straight from a hunt.

"We were just filling in Artie and Rory about the destruction of my home and livelihood," Rachel continues, a couple of tears falling down her cheeks for good measure. How that girl isn't dehydrated by this point is a mystery to Santana. She looks like she's been sobbing for the entire car journey over here. She doesn't envy Quinn for having to put up with it.

Finn reaches over the table and encompasses Rachel's hand with his own giant one. The sickeningly sympathetic smile he offers her is enough to make Santana queasy.

"Yeah, we're real sorry for your loss, Rachel," Rory adds. He walks from the door and leans against the white kitchen cabinets next to Sugar.

Beside her, Brittany frowns and tilts her head so her mouth is next to Santana's ear. "Is he speaking English?" she whispers. Santana bites down on her bottom lip to stop a laugh from escaping.

"Yeah, boo hoo," says Puck, stretching his arms above his head. "How about we sing Kumbaya and braid each others hair _after_ we track down the demon that smoked my favourite hangout?"

"Demons," Santana corrects.

Puck shrugs his shoulders. "Demon. Demons. What's the difference?"

"Quite a big difference actually," Artie says, his voice slipping into teachery mode. He always seems to alternate between that one and one in which he seems to be confusing himself with a female middle-aged black stereotype.

"I've never seen a demon," says Rory. He scratches his head. This is only the second time Santana has met Rory; the first was on a hunt in Massachusetts and honestly she's surprised he's still alive. She's sure if she ever looked up the word 'incompetent' in the dictionary it would just be a large picture of Rory's guileless grinning face. He got himself punched by one of the locals because he was looking just a little too intensely at her ass and then almost cried. Pathetic. "How do you kill them?"

"You can't," Quinn informs the group.

"Wait, what?" says Brittany, sounding alarmed. Under the table, Santana puts her hand on Brittany's knee as a way to calm her down and Brittany reaches down to instead lace their fingers together.

Artie turns to them and nods his head. There's a strange glint in his eye as he looks Brittany up and down that Santana doesn't like one bit, but she holds her tongue as the man begins to talk. "As far as we know there is only one way to actually kill a demon; with a gun called The Colt. As it is, nobody has seen that gun in years and even if they had it's not a sure thing it would even work. It's all just rumours and speculation."

"So then what are we going to do?" Brittany presses.

"We can't kill them," Santana continues, "but we can send them back to hell."

"But they'll be able to come back?" This confused question comes from a weary looking Sugar.

"In theory," says Artie. He takes off his glasses and tries to clean them on his space invaders sweater. "But it's damn near impossible to climb out of hell."

"That doesn't seem to have stopped the group that killed Karofsky," says Puck. He glances uneasily over at Quinn before his eyes drop down to the table. Oh God...if Santana has to deal with Puck and Quinn's sexually charged awkward glances for this hunt she's going to be forced to shoot them both. They're almost as bad as Finn and Rachel. Actually no...nobody is even close to being as repulsive as Finn and Rachel.

"Yes, thank you for your input, Puck," says Quinn icily.

A tense silence follows this and Brittany looks to Santana with question in her eyes. She shakes her head ever so slightly and Brittany nods. They'll talk about it later.

"I think we should just ignore the demons," says a sudden, shrill voice. Eight pairs of eyes snap to the teenager. She begins to pick at her bright pink sleeve but keeps her head held high. Santana is almost impressed. "Someone could get hurt. Hurt forever. Let somebody else deal with them."

There's a short pause. "Who the hell's the kid?" says Puck, pulling a face. "You're like what...twelve?"

"Sixteen!" Oh yeah, there it is; the foot stamping.

"Just ignore her," says Santana dismissively. "As soon as we find out where she lives we're dropping her off at home."

Sugar lets out a quiet sigh and looks down. "Oh so she's yours then?" Puck asks. "Just picking up girls at random now, Miss 'I-prefer-to-work-alone'? Or just the pretty ones?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Santana snaps. "She was at the Roadhouse when in burned down and had nowhere else to go. Stop being so vile."

"Are you just mad because she won't let you tap that?" says Puck. He winks at Sugar who has the good grace to look revolted.

"That may be the most disgusting thing you've ever said. She's barely even legal," Santana protests.

"Woah. Calm down, Lezpez. I was talking about Brittany," says Puck, holding out his hands as if to stave off an upcoming attack. The smug look of amusement on Quinn's face over this exchange is unbearable.

"I swear to God I'm going to–"

"Santana! Be nice," says Brittany, quietly elbowing her in the side. There's a tiredness in Brittany's gaze that immediately makes Santana fall silent.

"Yeah, Santana. Be nice," says Puck with a sly grin. His eyes are fixed on the bit of the table concealing their joined hands as though he can see right through it.

"Fuck you, _Noah._"

"That's enough!" Artie snaps, banging his hands down. "None of this is helping." He offers Brittany charming smile that makes the hairs on the back of Santana's neck prickle. "We can't kill demons," he continues as though there had been no interruption, "but we can send them back to hell with an exorcism ritual. I'm Artie, by the way."

"I'm Brittany." She sounds a little overwhelmed.

"It's nice to meet you," replies Artie. The smile never leaves his face and Santana narrows her eyes. Seriously, how many guys is she going to have to fight off?

"Me and Puck fought a demon last year," says Finn after a moment. "It almost killed us. How are we supposed to fight off a lot of them at once?"

"That is going to be the tricky part," Artie says in agreement. Rather than being daunted by the prospect, Artie actually looks delighted by the challenge.

"I still think this whole thing is a really bad idea," Sugar mutters but nobody pays her any attention. She's an odd kid. Santana's pretty sure she has no hunting skills herself but she seems to know enough not to have been phased by these turn of events that would have had most normal people running for the hills. Maybe her parents are hunters? She'll have to question the kid again at another time.

"Once we know how to fight them we also need to know how to find them," Quinn adds.

At this, Artie grins. "You leave that part to me, girl. I have some ideas."

"You think you can figure out what their next move is going to be?" asks Santana, just a little surprised.

"Fo' sho'," Artie replies, looking pleased with himself. "I've been working on a computer programme to track down demonic omens."

"Demonic omens?" Rachel hiccups. The tears seem to have stopped but Santana fears that at this point anything could set her off again. At least she escaped with her life; unlike Matt.

Artie nods. "Electrical storms, cattle mutilation." Brittany pulls a face. "Temperature fluctuations. They're the three I'm looking for specifically. Find those things in the same area and sooner or later Mr Demon is gonna be making an appearance."

"You're a nerd," says Puck with a smirk and shake of his head.

With a grim smile, Artie shrugs his shoulders. "There's not a lot else I can do to be useful these days."

Another tense silence follows this statement and Santana rolls her eyes at the awkwardness of it all. They're hunters; they really shouldn't feel the need to tiptoe around the sensitive issues. Thankfully, a loud knock on the front door brings the group out of their reverie and Rory immediately jumps to his feet and rushes from the room. He's like a little Jack Russell dancing around with his tail wagging.

"I give it another ten minutes before he literally wets himself from all the excitement," Santana comments with a shake of her head. "Seriously, Artie, if you needed a maid I would have been happy to provide half my scam money towards her keep. You didn't have to scrape the barrel with that sack of potatoes."

Artie smiles a little and Brittany elbows her again. "I like Rory. What he lacks in skills he makes up for in enthusiasm," he says.

"It's better he be here than out hunting," says Quinn in her soft voice. "He wouldn't last one minute out there on his own."

"Rory's cool," Finn adds with a shrug and Santana rolls her eyes.

"You just like him because he worships the ground you walk on," says Artie.

Before Finn can reply, the kitchen door swings open once more and the boy in question walks in with a dopey smile on his face followed by another man. Santana feels a smile capture her face.

"Hey, guys," says Sam. He raises a hand in a wave.

"Trouty Mouth!" she says happily. "I see the lip reduction surgery fell through? Too bad."

Sam grins at her and leans forward to give her an awkward hug. "I've missed you too, Santana."

* * *

**Author's Note(s):** Okay, so I had to introduce quite a few new characters in this chapter and they're all quite vague right now, but I will be going into them in more detail in the next chapter.

Thank you for reading and as always feel free to direct any questions to my Tumblr (cognitivism) because I'm more likely to see them there than I am on here :-)


	13. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Glee or the world in which this story is based.

**Author's Note(s): **Bonjourno, all. As ever, thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed, favourited and alerted this story. I am incredibly grateful! Also, a quick warning that my Microsoft Word has suddenly decided to stop telling me when I make basic spelling errors so I'd like to apologise in advance for any or probably the many mistakes you'll come across. I hope you enjoy this chapter.

**No Rest for the Wicked  
**_Chapter 11_

Santana leans back in the threadbare armchair and lets her eyes sweep over the messy library. Honestly, she's quite impressed by the collection of books Artie has amassed over the last couple of years because last time she was here it wasn't even half this size and that had been when he still had full use of his legs. Still, she's not sure anything in these old manuscripts will actually be of use to them. A lot of it is old Biblical crap and she's fairly confident that the Archangel Michael won't be descending to Earth with his blazing sword ready to smite their enemies. That would be nice though.

"You look good," Sam comments from the chair next to hers. He speaks softly so he can't be heard by anybody else over the dull chatter of exchanged ideas around the room. So far nobody seems to have made any headway on their demon problem.

"I always look good, Guppy Face," she replies with an arched eyebrow.

He smiles at her. Sam's never been one to take her mocking insults seriously; it's probably why she likes him so much. Try as hard as she might to avoid it, Sam just had a way of worming his way into her heart and now that he's there he isn't budging. He's probably the only person Santana has ever considered to be a real friend until recently. "You know what I mean," he says.

With a shrug, Santana's eyes fall briefly on Brittany, who is sat next to Sugar on the floor at the other end of the room with an adorable crease of concentration between her eyebrows as she stares at the book in her lap. She probably has no idea what she's reading and really Santana doesn't blame her. She barely does herself and this is kind of her area of expertise.

"If you mean I don't seem to be on the verge of collapse like last time then yes, I know what you mean," says Santana stiffly. She really prefers it when people don't try to talk to her about her near mental breakdown after her dad was killed.

Sam leans into her and nudges her shoulder gently. "Come on. Don't be like that. As the guy who had to carry your deadweight up that flight of stairs I think I deserve some answers."

"You didn't ask me a question," Santana protests, still keeping her voice down so as not to be overheard. She covers her embarrassment with well, she thinks. "And I told you I was grateful for that. Honestly I'm just happy I was with you and nobody else. If I'd been with Puckerman I'd probably have woken up with all my clothes missing."

He chuckles lightly and runs a hand through his floppy blonde hair before looking over at the man in question to make sure he wasn't within hearing range. Based on the glazed look on his face as Rory babbles about something Artie has apparently showed him, Puck isn't going to be hearing anything for the next ten or so minutes if he can prevent it. "Yeah. I went on a hunt with him and Finn last year and Star Wars was on the TV one night. All he cared about was Princess Leia in the gold bikini."

"And if you were a real boy that's all you'd care about too," Santana remarks. Sam looks affronted.

"Come on, Han Solo is the best thing about those movies. You know it. I know it," he tells her.

"Like that's any less gay."

Sam laughs again and Santana allows herself a small smile. "I hope you don't think your changing the subject tactic is going to work on me. Trust me; I've seen this play out in all the comic books. I know how it works," he says with a shake of his head and a wry grin. "Tell me about Brittany."

Santana risks another glance at her friend...girlfriend...across the room and sees Brittany looking straight back at her. Electricity jolts through her body and she feels heat rise to her cheeks. Brittany's lip curls into a grin.

"Um...hello? Earth to Santana?" Sam waves a hand in front of her face and her arms instantly fly out to bat them away.

"Stop it, you overgrown Ken doll!"

"Yeah yeah," says Sam, withdrawing his hands. "Brittany. Tell me."

Santana sighs. She doesn't want to talk about Brittany. She's really liked not having to share her for these past couple of months. Maybe it's stupid but she feels like if she doesn't hold onto all these secret little pieces of their fragile relationship then a single chip could send everything tumbling down. But then, Sam is her friend, right? He won't do anything to jeopardise her happiness if he can help it. He's proved that more than once in the past.

"Brittany is my friend," Santana says after a moment of contemplation. "I was on a hunt in her town and she ended up helping me out. She asked to come with me and I said yes."

Sam's eyebrows shoot up and his ginormous lips part into a toothy grin. "She must be pretty special to convince you to let her tag along. I thought you didn't like people?"

"I _don't_ like people," replies Santana sternly. "And you sleep too much for me to hunt with; I told you that already."

"Yeah, that wasn't a very believable excuse," Sam interrupts. She chooses to ignore him.

"I like being with Brittany though," she continues with a shrug. "She's fun and..._nice_."

Suddenly, Sam's eyes seem to sparkle with ill concealed glee. "Oh so she's _that_ kind of friend. Why didn't you just say so?"

Santana feels her cheeks turn red and she hushes him furiously. A quick glance around the room tells her that nobody is paying attention to them but she's still not entirely comfortable having this conversation here. Artie is sat awfully close to her as he peruses some of the lower shelves on one of his bookcases. She guesses he can't really see or reach the higher ones anymore.

"Keep your voice down," Santana says warily once she's absolutely sure nobody is listening. "So what if she is _that_ kind of friend? It's absolutely none of your fucking business!"

Sam's face softens. "Hey, calm down, Santana. I wasn't criticising you." Her eyes drop to her lap. "Look, I'm glad you've found someone that makes you happy. I know it's gotta be hard for you letting someone you love hunt with you."

A surge of alarm causes her head to shoot back up and she looks at Sam with wide eyes. "Woah. Let's not jump the gun here. Who said anything about _love_? I _like_ Brittany a lot but let's not get carried away." She twists her hands together uneasily. The gentle smile never leaves his face but thankfully Sam doesn't press that particular issue like most people would. Sometimes Santana can't help but think that he's too good for this profession. He should be off somewhere sunny running Trouty Mouth's Wonder Emporium, the worlds greatest nerd and comic book shop, with a pretty girl at his side.

"Okay. I'm just saying that I've known you for quite a long time now, Santana, and I've never seen you this happy before. Not even before your father got himself killed," Sam tells her openly. It's the kind of earnestness that makes her feel inherently uncomfortable. "So whatever your relationship with Brittany is, you shouldn't be ashamed of it. I've been here for almost an hour and you haven't tried to shoot a single thing. You're more relaxed and it's great."

"I'm not _obsessed_ with shooting things," Santana mutters, rolling her eyes. Why do people keep saying stuff like this to her?

"Oh yeah?" Sam says. He quirks an eyebrow. "Do I need to remind you of that time I caught you singing a lullaby to your shotgun."

"I was not singing it a lullaby! I was cleaning it and just happened to be singing at the same time," Santana protests. He just shakes his head disbelievingly at her.

"You're changing the subject again. Come on." He jabs her playfully in the side. "Just tell me about her. I promise I won't tell anybody what you said."

"Not even Mercedes?" Santana asks, knowing it's an unfair question.

Sam smiles bashfully. "Not much I can hide from that woman but I can promise to try."

"I suppose that's the most I can ask for," says Santana reluctantly. There really are only so many secrets you can keep from a psychic and she knows that Sam has had a massive crush on Mercedes pretty much since she's known him. He had actually been the one to introduce her and her father to the woman in the first place. "Okay, what do you want to know about her?"

"Anything."

Santana thinks for a moment as she watches Quinn skim her eyes down one of the biggest books in the whole room. She's almost bearable when she isn't talking. Still looks like she's sucking on a lemon though.

"I don't really know what to say," she admits. "I met her like I said before; she was a waitress in the diner I'd gone to a couple of times and she decided she wanted to come with me. I don't know why. I tried to say no to her but she's really..._persuasive_."

"Are you two like...together?" Sam asks. Santana hesitates before nodding her head. "Right from the beginning?"

"No, it's only been about a week," Santana tells him nervously. "We um...tried to go on a date last night but then the thing at the Roadhouse happened and cut it short." Sam looks surprised; obviously he is as bewildered by the idea of Santana _dating_ as she herself is. She doesn't really blame him; never before has she shown any outward interest in that sort of thing. What's the point when she knows she'll be leaving in a few days?

"What happened to change your relationship?" he says. Santana rolls her eyes. _Relationship_. Really? It sounds so...Actually she doesn't know why she doesn't like it. It's just weird.

"Finn was hitting on her," says Santana darkly.

"And you let him live?" He laughs and Santana punches him in the arm. From the other side of the room Rachel looks at them disapprovingly. Her tears seem to have stopped but she's taking the fact that they're in a library _very_ seriously.

"It was touch and go for a while," Santana tells him and he offers her an understanding nod.

"I'm proud of you for not shooting him in the face," he says. He jiggles his head a little to move the blonde hair that has fallen in front of his eyes. It's been a constant source of amusement for Santana that her friend so obviously bleaches his hair but what's even funnier to her that he still denies it. _It just grows that colour my ass_, Santana thinks with a grin.

"Oh, Trouty Mouth. I'm so glad you're here."

* * *

"What do you think they're talking about?" Brittany mutters as she gazes across the room at her girlfriend and Sam. Does he know that Santana is _hers_ now? They keep smiling at each other and Brittany doesn't like it one bit.

"Who?" Sugar asks, looking a little surprised but happy to be spoken to. "Trouty Mouth and...Santana?"

"Yeah," says Brittany.

They'd only been in the library for about ten minutes when Santana rose from the floor and told Brittany she'd be right back. Now she's been sat next to the guy with the floppy blonde hair for like fifteen minutes and they keep whispering to each other and giggling. Brittany doesn't think she's ever seen Santana this...comfortable with anyone that isn't her before. She's not sure how she feels about that.

"They're probably comparing brands of lip care products," says Sugar knowledgably.

Brittany glances at the teenager next to her in confusion. "I don't think Santana uses lip care products," she says. Sugar looks surprised.

"She will. I mean...probably, when she's old. She'll use chapstick and stuff," replies Sugar with a definitive nod. "All women do."

Brittany sighs, not entirely sure that Sugar is right. Lip care products probably don't make people smile in the way Sam is smiling at Santana.

Her eyes drift and she catches Artie looking at her; she smiles awkwardly and he grins back before wheeling across the room to speak to Rory about something. She makes a mental note to ask Santana if he's some kind of robot 'cause if ghosts and vampires and demons are real then who's to say that Transformers aren't too? She hadn't noticed the wheelchair until they moved from the kitchen to the library. It's the first time she's actually seen the physical damage hunting can cause and looking at Artie makes her feel a little uneasy. She doesn't want Santana to end up like that. Come to think of it, she doesn't want herself to look like that either. She needs her legs to work.

"I don't understand anything in these books," Sugar grumbles. "Who understands Latin these days? Nobody. Or losers with no friends and glasses bigger than their whole face."

"Maybe they speak it in Latinvia? Or where the Pope lives," Brittany suggests. She _thinks_ the book she has is written in English but she's struggling with it just as much as Sugar is with hers. The font is really weird and half the letters don't actually look like letters. It has a really cool cover though (red with gold fastenings) and quite a lot of pictures. The pictures were why Brittany had selected this one...although now she can't really remember what it is she's supposed to be looking for anymore. She's really tired.

"Maybe," says Sugar with a shrug. "I'm not good at geography. It's a waste of time. Like math and gym class."

"I liked gym class," Brittany replies, pushing the book on her lap to one side. This isn't going to help them she doesn't think.

"You did?" says Sugar. She sounds a little sad.

Brittany nods. "Totally. It was just all practice for dance."

Sugar nods and looks away. "Did you like English?"

"The language? It's the only one I speak so..."

"No, I mean the class," Sugar explains. She picks at her super awesome pink Capri pants and Brittany wonders if she has a spare set of clothes with her. She was wearing them two days ago when Brittany saw her for the first time outside the Roadhouse and she doesn't seem to have changed. Maybe if she doesn't she and Santana can take her shopping tomorrow? That could be fun. Although she's not sure Santana will want to stop working until she's got all this demon stuff sorted. She has kind of a one-track mind when it comes to hunting.

"I liked it more than most of my classes. I didn't really like school. I wrote for the school paper though; that was cool," says Brittany. Sugar seems a perk up a little at this. "I was a hard-hitting journalist, asking the questions everybody needed answers to."

"So you really do like writing then?" she asks.

"Sure," Brittany shrugs. These are strange questions...

Suppressing a yawn, Brittany turns her attention back to Santana who is _still_ talking to Sam. She watches her for a couple of minutes until the woman in question turns her head and their eyes meet. Even from across the room Brittany can see Santana's cheeks turn a little red and her lip quirks up into a grin. Nice to see Santana hasn't forgotten about her.

Sam waves a hand in front of Santana's face, which effectively severs the link connecting them and Brittany looks away with an unhappy frown. Stupid Sam.

"God, it's been like _five_ minutes," says Sugar incredulously. "Seriously, it is okay for you two _not_ to live in each others pockets. You're awful when you're like this."

"Hey," Brittany protests. "That's just mean. All I did was look at her."

"It's just sad," Sugar replies with a roll of her eyes. "I mean really, you're jealous of _Trouty Mouth_? Last time I saw him Santana called him cute in a sexless kind of way."

"The last time you saw him?" Brittany asks in confusion. "You know him?"

Sugar's eyes widen in alarm. "I mean before...in the kitchen. That's what Santana said."

"I didn't hear her say that," says Brittany. She's confused; she's sure she hasn't left Santana's side until now and she really doesn't remember her saying anything even a little bit like that. All they did was fill Sam in on everything that had happened and then Artie suggested that they 'hit the books' (she's not convinced that violence towards the literature is going to help the situation) so they moved into here. Oh, and Finn started practically slobbering over Rachel. She's beginning to see why Santana doesn't really like him.

"You must have been distracted," Sugar replies.

_Maybe_, Brittany thinks. She does get distracted quite a lot. Lord Tubbington used to tell her so all the time.

"So where are you from, Sugar?" Brittany asks. Now seems like a good time to get some information from her because Brittany is sure there's nothing she can really do to contribute to the group right now. She's just not smart enough no matter what Santana says.

"Why do you ask?" says Sugar uncomfortably. Brittany shrugs.

"Because you're my friend?" she replies. Sugar's face lights up with a bright smile.

"Really?" she asks hopefully. "I didn't think you liked me very much."

"Of course I like you," says Brittany. She's starting to feel a little guilty for how mean they've been to her up until this point. She's just a kid and she hasn't actually done anything wrong...as far as Brittany knows anyway.

"Okay, well um...I used to live in New York," Sugar tells her.

"Used to?"

"Yeah," says Sugar. "We lived there for a while but my mama didn't like it so we moved to somewhere smaller. She said it was too loud and there were too many people."

Brittany nods and files away that information to tell Santana later. "Where do you live now?"

Sugar folds her arms and huffs. "I already told you I'm not telling you that! You'll just try to take me home but I'm staying here. You can't make me leave."

Brittany pouts and closes her eyes. Mission: Failed. Maybe if she just rests for a minute she'll feel better and she can try to read her book again because her plan to interrogate Sugar isn't working. Or she could just go back to staring at the collection of different sized and coloured phones adorning the wall behind Artie's desk like she was before. They all say something different underneath them like 'FBI' or 'CIA' or 'Health Inspector' which is super weird. She'll ask Santana about them later.

Yawning once more, Brittany wriggles her shoulders and tries to make herself more comfortable against the solid wall behind her. Yeah, just five minutes of relaxation and she'll get back to work.

The next thing Brittany is aware of is a hand gripping her shoulder and shaking her gently. The dark fog in her mind begins to lift.

"Britt." She recognises that voice. "Brittany? Wake up."

Brittany pries her eyes open a fraction and sees Santana's face hovering just a few inches from her own. She groans lightly as a dull ache that comes from sitting in the same position for too long makes itself known. Why is she sat on a rough, wooden floor? And what is that weight against her?

"Come on, Britt," says Santana. "We're leaving."

She forces her eyes open more and takes a bleary look around the room. Oh yeah. She remembers now. Why is Quinn staring at her with such derision? And is that...yes, Sugar is sleeping heavily against her side. She smiles a little and pats the girl on the head. Sugar's actually kind of cute while she sleeps and she's clinging to the material of Brittany's t-shirt as if for dear life.

"Sugar? Wake up," says Brittany, her voice scratchy. As Sugar begins to rouse herself, she looks back to Santana. "Did you find it? The...demon stuff. Are we winning?"

Santana smiles stiffly. "Not yet. This will all still be here later. We need a break."

Brittany lets out a relieved sigh just as Sugar sits up with a loud yawn. "How long was I asleep for?" she questions, a little embarrassed. Was she snoring?

"Just a few minutes," Santana tells her, easing her discomfort. "Don't worry about it. We should have left earlier." She holds out a hand and Brittany takes it, allowing Santana to pull her to her feet. She bites back a groan as the muscles in her back protest against the movement. Stupid Rachel and Finn taking up all the space on the couch.

"Wait! Where are you going?" asks Sugar, suddenly very awake. At her shrill exclamation most of the people in the room stop what they're doing to look up.

"To find a motel," Santana says sharply.

"You have to take me with you," says Sugar. She scrambles to her feet with a wild look in her eyes and Brittany actually feels a little sorry for her. A quick glance at her companion tells her that Santana is not feeling the same sympathy though.

"You can't be serious?" Santana says. Her voice is flat and Sugar flinches. "Why don't you go and harass Rachel instead? She's the one who picked you up off the street."

"Excuse me!" Rachel protests from the couch but nobody pays her any attention.

Sugar pulls her bottom lip between her teeth in worry and her eyes dart around the room nervously. "I need to be with you," she says.

"No! How many times do we have to go through this? We are not your babysitters, kid," Santana snaps. Sugar's eyes glaze over and she starts to fiddle with the ring on the middle finger of her right hand.

"Please?" Sugar begs. Brittany's heart does a funny little flip; she hates seeing other people so sad. Why has Sugar formed such an attachment to them in so short a time? Santana is very easy to become attached to, she guesses.

"Absolutely not," says Santana definitively. "Look, kid. We are not friends. The sooner you get that through your thick skull the better. We didn't bring you here out of the goodness of our hearts; we brought you here because we had no choice at the time. So, why don't you and your poorly chosen outfit toddle on back to whatever rock you crawled out of because we really don't have time for this. Capisce?"

Brittany watches as the look of devestation on Sugar's face becomes more and more pronounced through Santana's tirade until eventually, the girl lets out a high pitched squeek and bolts from the room, knocking over a large stack of books on her way out.

An uncomfortable silence is left in her wake, but with the exeption of Brittany nobody appears to care very much. Within seconds everyone returns to their previous activities seemingly without another thought. She can't help but wonder how people who have devoted their lives to saving people from monsters can be so dismissive of the feelings of others. She's noticed it seems to be a trait that a lot of the hunters she has met share. Maybe hunters all tend to be a certain kind of person? Or maybe the hunting makes them that way. She's not sure which of those alternatives makes her the saddest.

"That was really mean," she mumbles with an unhappy frown. Santana glances at her and shrugs her shoulders, but she seems a little uneasy.

"We'll be back later," Santana then says to the room. She's mostly ignored but Brittany feels her eyes narrow as Sam looks up from his book and waves with a crooked smile. Her irritation increases when Santana smiles lightly back and brings two fingers up to her temple in a salute to the man.

Before they leave the room Brittany reaches down and laces her fingers with Santana's. Santana looks at her with something akin to discomfort but still squeezes her hand and then leads her quickly out the door. She's been acting a little standoffish with Brittany ever since they met up with Quinn, Rachel and Sugar. She's not sure why but she's beginning to think that Santana doesn't want people to know they're together or something. It hurts a little but she's been trying not to think about it because Santana might have a really good reason for it.

She feels a tug on her arm and realise that she's slowed to a stop in the hallway. Maybe she's more tired than she thought. Santana smiles at her and Brittany allows herself to be pulled to the front door and back out into the scrap yard. She blinks against the cold sunlight and shifts closer to Santana. It looks like a nice day out but she's not really in the right frame of mind to enjoy it right now. She hadn't even realised it was daytime because there are no windows in Artie's library at all; it adds to the overall oppressive atmosphere of the room. Brittany wonders if it has always felt like that or if the house has taken on the sad countenance of it's owner.

Brittany yawns. "I'm sleepy," she tells Santana, unecessarily. Maybe she can just curl up in one of these old cars and have a nap?

Santana tilts her head and kisses Brittany softly on the corner of her mouth with a shy smile that's so very unlike her. "I thought you might be," she replies. For a moment, Brittany basks in the affection with a dopey smile on her face. "Come on, you. Let's get you to bed."

Once more, Brittany allows Santana to take the lead as they walk hand in hand through the piles of cars and heaps of rusted metal. She hadn't noticed how full and messy the place had really been when they first arrived. It was probably because it had still been dark. There's a certain beauty to it now and she likes the way the sun reflects off the shiny bits of scrap metal. If she squints it looks like a treasure-trove full of gold and jewels instead of a graveyard full of broken car dreams. Is this where automobiles come to die?

In her haze, Brittany almost doesn't hear the sniffles and soft wails as they approach the car together. Santana does though because the confused scowl that settles across her face is what alerts Brittany to the noise. It sounds kind of like Lord Tubbington did that time her dad accidentally stepped on his tail.

They walk around Santana's rather grubby black car and Brittany's face falls into a sad pout when they finally see Sugar, knees pressed up to her chest and leaning against one of the wheels. She clearly has no intention of moving; in fact it looks like she's waiting for them.

She obviously hadn't heard them approach because when Santana clears her throat, Sugar jumps and looks up at them with a startled gaze. Her red rimmed eyes fill with tears again and she brings a hand up to her face to rub them away with the palm of her hand. "Are you here to yell at me some more?" she mumbles, barely audible. Strands of dark blonde hair stick to her damp cheeks.

Brittany squeezes Santana's hand, unsure about how her girlfriend is going to react. She doesn't want another scene even though there's nobody around to see it because she's not sure Sugar can take all the abuse a second time around. She looks so sad all curled up in a ball with her face pink and blotchy. It makes Brittany just want to scoop her up and take care of her. However, Santana doesn't seem to be preparing another irate rant. In fact, she's staring at Sugar with slightly widened eyes and an almost completely bland expression. It's a little eerie and Brittany scuffs her feet against the floor, disloding a little gravel.

She wants to tell Sugar that she can come with them but she doesn't want to make Santana mad again; especially now she's being so open and affectionate with her since their sort-of fight outside the Roadhouse. Or at least when nobody else is around.

"Get up," Santana says after a moment of awkward silence. Her voice sounds distant and Brittany flinches, knowing another cruel dismissal is about to be thrown Sugar's way. Maybe later she can convince Santana to be a little kinder to the girl.

Sugar sniffs loudly and wearily pushes herself to her feet. For a few seconds she even manages to hold Santana's curious gaze before glancing away unhappily.

"Please don't be mad at me," says Sugar quietly. A few more tears roll down her face.

"We're not mad at you," Brittany replies. When Santana doesn't react, Brittany elbows her sharply in the side.

"Um..."

Brittany looks at her partner incredulously. Over the last few months Brittany has seen Santana go through many states of emotion and general being. Speechlessness, however, isn't one of them.

"Santana?" she prompts. Can people sleep with their eyes open? Can people sleep _standing up_? "Santana!"

"Um..." Sugar looks between them hopefully as Santana stammers out an answer. "Just get in fucking the car. We can talk about this later."

Overjoyed, Sugar's face splits into a wide grin and she launches herself forward into Santana's arms. Or at least she tries to. Santana stands with her arms pinned to her sides and a look of absolute terror on her face. Brittany really does try not to laugh but she just can't stop a small giggle from escaping.

"All right that's enough of that," says Santana, desperately trying to wriggle out of the girl's grasp. "Sugar. Get off...Sugar! Let go of me right now!"

Eventually, Sugar pulls away and wipes a few more tears from her face with the back of her hand. "I knew you'd say yes," she whispers tearfully. "Thank you. You won't regret it. I promise!"

* * *

**Author's Note(s):** So not a lot happened in this chapter, I know. I just wanted to establish these two characters a little more before moving on to bigger and more exciting things. Thanks for sticking with me and as ever I can be found at my Tumblr account (cognitivism) if you have any questions :-)


	14. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Glee or the world in which this story is based.

**Author's Note(s): **Hey, guys :-) As always, thank you for still reading and reviewing! I'm glad everyone is enjoying the mystery that is Sugar but at this point I can neither confirm nor deny your theories! I hope you enjoy this chapter :-)

**No Rest for the Wicked  
**_Chapter 12_

When Santana wakes for the second time that day it's in the early hours of the afternoon. Sunlight streams through the inadequate curtains and the sounds of heavy objects being thrown and dragged around somewhere outside fills the room. It's probably people working in the lumber yard across the road if the deep male yells are anything to go by. All in all, it's not the best motel Santana has ever slept in; nor is it by any means the worst. No, that particular honour goes to a little place in Louisville that came with its own little ants nest living in the cracks of the window frame and more than one peephole in both the shower and the bedroom. Santana had stayed there for maybe fifteen minutes before spotting a disgustingly suspicious yellow stain on one of the sheets, prompting her to steal her money back (with a little extra for good measure) from the cash register and get the hell out of there.

She groans lightly and squirms under the sheets, trying to stretch her muscles and limbs with as little movement as possible. Apparently she had been more tired than she'd realised. She must have been running on pure adrenaline and it wasn't until a light disagreement with Brittany last night...or was it this morning...that Santana had realised she was on her second night of no sleep at all and that it probably wasn't conducive to solving wide-scale demon problems. The woman had even had the nerve to throw Santana's own words back in her face about needing rest to function to the best of their abilities. Of course, Brittany had been paraphrasing because she's confident she's never once used the words, "'cause that's how girls end up dead."

That hadn't been the only _disagreement_ she'd had with Brittany either. After much deliberation and careful consideration both Sugar and Brittany had decided, without Santana's consent, that Sugar would be sharing a room with them for 'safety reasons'. Brittany had been struggling through a haze of exhaustion but that hadn't stopped her from being incredibly forceful about her views on the subject. She'd told Santana that she was too tired for 'sweet lady kisses' anyway so what did it matter if Sugar slept in the bed next to theirs? For her part, Sugar had looked positively mortified by this conversation but Santana had also seen her wipe away a few tears with the back of her hand and Santana wasn't sure if they were tears of misery or tears of happiness because Brittany was fighting her corner. It's a little sad but frankly, Santana has bigger fish to fry right now to concern herself with the feelings of a random, clingy teenager.

In the end, Santana had agreed because she _wanted_ to and _not_ just because she felt compelled to cater to Brittany's every whim, no matter what Sam had half-jokingly suggested before they'd left Artie's house.

Then there's the fact that she wants to keep an eye on Sugar anyway. Something about her face as she'd sobbed against her car had struck a chord and Santana struggles to grasp what it is that bothers her. Sometimes when she looks at Sugar something in her mind clicks and she knows exactly what it is that niggles at the back of her tired brain, but then it slips away like the tide on the beach and she's left with dull confusion.

It's like the kid reminds her of someone. Somebody she hasn't seen in a very long time.

She tries to banish these unsettling thoughts from her mind and reaches over to the bedside table to retrieve her phone. A quick glance at the screen tells her that Brittany hasn't text her yet and she purses her lips in disapproval. She's beginning to regret her decision to allow Brittany access to her car keys so she could take Sugar shopping earlier this morning. Thinking on it, she's also not sure how Brittany convinced her to financially support it either. An image of Sam from last night as he acted out the sounds and actions of a whip flashes through her mind and she grumbles to herself unhappily.

Or at least she likes to pretend to herself that she's unhappy with her little arrangement, but the fact is that after only a few weeks Santana already can't even imagine her life without Brittany. If she has to sacrifice some of her worldly goods to make sure things stay the way they are now, then so be it. She knows she'd give anything to keep hold of the warm, fuzzy feeling that hugs her body whenever Brittany smiles at her.

Although she's still not entirely happy about allowing that kid to hang around with them. Far too much mystery for Santana's liking. Brittany seems to trust her though and Santana trusts Brittany. Maybe Sugar will even turn out to be helpful. _Maybe_. Santana isn't holding her breath on that one. It could be worse though. At least it isn't Rachel Berry determined to latch herself onto them with that eerie glint of determination in her eyes that Santana has often found more frightening than any of the monsters she's fought in her lifetime.

Ugh _Rachel Berry_. Now there's a horrifying notion.

Before Santana's thoughts can turn down an even darker road, the phone in her hand starts to buzz. Without looking at the screen, she immediately accepts the call and brings it to her ear.

"Hey there, Britt-Britt," she says, her voice scratchy from sleep. There's a light cackle over the phone and Santana smacks her hand to her forehead.

"_Not quite, girl_," replies Mercedes with amusement. "_Britt-Britt? Really?_"

Santana sighs. "Well we can't all be psychic." She knows that's not what Mercedes was laughing at.

"_We do all have Caller ID though_," Mercedes points out.

"Yeah yeah," Santana mutters under her breath. She wriggles underneath the blankets on the bed, trying to get more comfortable. It's hard with a pointy spring digging into her back. "To what do I owe the pleasure, Miss Cleo?"

Mercedes clicks her tongue in irritation. "_That's offensive. You're lucky there are state boarders between us right now 'cause they're saving you from a smack upside the head. Is that all I'm getting from you? 'Give me your information and then leave me alone'?_"

"That's about the gist of it," says Santana mutinously. She can practically hear Mercedes rolling her eyes.

"_Rude_," replies Mercedes. "_In answer to the questions you should have asked me, I'm fine, thank you. The business is still doing well and Kurt is keeping himself busy. How are you, Santana?" _

Santana hates small talk but she knows Mercedes has a reason for calling and that she won't be getting that information unless she plays along. But then... "I'm absolutely peachy," she says in a jovial voice. "Fantastic. Never been better! I fucking _love it_ when super angry, super-powered serial killers are roaming the Earth looking for my friends and colleagues with murderous intent. Me and the guys had a good old laugh about it last night after we sang a rousing chorus of 'She'll Be Coming 'Round the Mountain' and made s'mores over the giant Roadhouse campfire."

There's an unamused pause. "_Are you finished_?" Mercedes asks.

"Yes," says Santana with a sigh.

"_So how are things going with Brittany_?" continues Mercedes. Santana cringes, hearing the wry grin in her voice like the woman already knows the answer to this question.

"Um...Fine. I haven't scared her off yet if that's what you're asking," she says.

"_Is that your way of saying I can expect wedding bells soon_?" Mercedes probes. "_Stop rolling your eyes at me_!"

"I wasn't!" Santana protests. She was. "We've been a little too preoccupied to sit around listening to vagina music and discussing making lesbabies in case you haven't noticed."

"_That's not what I've heard_."

"Fucking Trouty Mouth can't keep his trap shut for ten minutes!" Santana sits up in bed in anger; like Sam is somehow going to be sat a arms length so she can beat the shit out of him.

"_Okay, you need to relax, Satan_," Mercedes says. "_Sam didn't tell me anything. Not verbally anyway_." Santana rolls her eyes. "_And Trouty Mouth, Santana? Really? I expect a higher level of creativity from you. Besides, have you and your lips looked in the mirror lately? People in glass houses shouldn't throw stones_."

"Thanks for the after school special, grandma. Did you pick that one up from your nightly readings of the Beeble?" she replies scathingly. But she still raises her fingers to her lips rather self-consciously.

"_Very funny_," says Mercedes dryly. "_Now do you want my information or not, you ungrateful bitch_?"

"Yes," says Santana promptly. She crosses her legs and switches the phone to her other hand; it's starting to feel a little warm against her face.

"_Well then maybe if you ask me really nicely I'll consider it_," says Mercedes. Santana grits her teeth. "_You know you should really see a doctor_," Mercedes continues after a few moments of silence, "_your blood pressure must be through the roof_."

In her head, Santana counts down from ten and exhales slowly. "Oh, Oracle of Unfettered Omniscience, please grace me with your bountiful knowledge so that I may continue to do your work," she says as sincerely as possible.

"_That's better_," Mercedes says seriously, but Santana knows her mood has lightened considerably.

"Thank you, Jewel of Kansas and Goddess among insects."

"So, _I had a very interesting dream last night that I think you should know about. You guys aren't the only people lurking around in Sioux Falls_." Santana grips the phone a little tighter.

"Demons?" Santana asks, suddenly feeling nervous. She's sure the prickling sensation at the back of her neck is all in her imagination but she still twitches uncomfortably and glances around the room. She may be the most badass human to have ever walked the Earth but even Santana knows when she's outgunned. Or at least she does now after some gentle persuasion.

"_Just one as far as I know_," Mercedes tells her. "_I don't know where he is now but I know where he's going to be in exactly six hours and twenty-four minutes_."

The cogs in Santana's brain begin to turn. "And where might that be, oh Font of Wisdom?"

"_In your motel room_," Mercedes supplies. "_Creepin'_."

Santana feels a thrill of fear and immediately suppresses it. Hunts haven't frightened her since she was a teenager so she's not sure what's wrong with her now. What's changed? "How do you know it's my motel room, Empress of Infinite Knowledge and Insight?"

"_I don't know anyone else who keeps a cheap-ass unicorn toy around them_," says Mercedes. Santana purses her lips as her eyes fall on 'Hermione' perched on the foot of Sugar's bed. "_Seriously, Santana, buy your girl something nicer_."

"How do you even know about that?" Santana says unhappily. She has a reputation to uphold for Gods sake.

"_When are you going to get it through your thick skull that I'm a psychic_?"

A beat. "Brittany told you didn't she?" says Santana, knowing the answer.

"_No_!" Mercedes counters. "_She told Kurt...who then told me_."

"Of course," says Santana under her breath. Her eyes continue to scan the room until they land on the digital alarm clock with glaring red numbers on the table next to the bed. "And you know the exact time because you saw the clock?"

"_Santana_," says Mercedes with warning teasing voice.

"Right," says Santana rolling her eyes. "Oh Magnificent Prophetess, have you any further pearls of wisdom to share with this lesser mortal? What did the demon look like?"

"_You can't miss him. Jew-fro, black framed glasses and will probably be the dude sneaking around your room_," Mercedes says. "_Oh, and black eyes_."

Santana nods her head even though Mercedes can't see her. The soulless, flickering black eyes have always creeped her out. She remembers the first time she saw a demon; she and her father had it cornered with pails of holy water in their hands. It had blinked, replacing the normal, human eyes with inky blackness and Santana had very nearly dropped her bucket in shock. The distraction had almost allowed the demon to escape. Her father had not been happy with her that morning.

"Right. Thanks for letting me know," says Santana. She feels the sudden need to get Mercedes off the phone so she can call Brittany and make sure she's okay.

"_No problem_," replies Mercedes. "_Be careful, okay_?"

"I'm always careful."

Mercedes snorts in disbelief. "_If you say so. Tell your girlfriend to text me when she's got a minute_."

"Sure thing," says Santana, knowing she won't. She can't deny the small jolt of happiness at hearing somebody else refer to Brittany as her girlfriend though. She loves the way it sounds from someone else's lips.

"_Later then, Satan_!" Mercedes says. "_Keep me updated_."

"Yeah. Bye."

The phones disconnect and Santana has to take a moment to absorb this new information. They aren't ready for the demons yet. They still have no way of killing them and certainly no way of eradicating so many at once. But then, Mercedes had only said one so maybe they still have time. Maybe this demon is working alone.

She uses the phone in her hand to send a quick text to Brittany to ask if everything is okay before pushing herself out of bed and heading to the bathroom to shower.

If the demon is working alone than maybe he can actually be of use to them. They've been stumbling around in the dark since they started this investigation and maybe having someone on the inside around could work their advantage. She'll have to tread extremely carefully though; demons have an unparalleled sense of self-preservation but Santana also knows she can't trust a single word that comes from their filthy mouths no matter what the circumstance is.

As she lathers shampoo into her hair, she tries not to worry about that fact that she and Brittany have now been singled out by the demons. What are the chances that they'd just happen to be in the same place as them for a second time? Have they been followed somehow? She knows Artie will probably be a target purely for his research into the supernatural so maybe it's just a coincidence that he would be the demons' next stop.

It's a strange feeling. She's been targeted by evil creatures before but that's been when she only had herself to worry about. Now she has Brittany and she knows that she'll do anything to keep Brittany safe.

With that lingering uncomfortably in the back of her mind, Santana finishes washing herself as quickly as possible and sets to work. She has things to do and a very short time in which to do them.

* * *

By the time Sugar and Brittany return, shopping bags in hand, Santana has completed her preparations and is lying back on the bed with her laptop resting on her stomach. She's been researching exorcisms but as far as she can tell every single one she's looked at so far has been fake. Apparently hunters aren't very internet savvy. Maybe she'll suggest to Artie that he set a website up in the future. It would definitely come in handy.

"Honey, I'm home!" Brittany announces as she struggles through the door with Sugar bouncing in behind her. Almost unwillingly, Santana smiles at the domesticity of it.

In that second, she decides beyond a shadow of a doubt she isn't going to tell Brittany about her phone call from Mercedes.

"Hey, Britt. Sugar," she greets.

"Hi, Santana," says Sugar cheerfully. Her cheeks are rosy for exertion and her teeth are on full display. She seems to have recovered from her earlier fit of tears.

"How did the shopping go?" Santana asks, eyeing the number of bags in Brittany's hands. They were only supposed to be buying a couple of new outfits for Sugar.

"Awesome," says Brittany. She beams and puts down her packages on Sugar's bed next to Hermione the Unicorn. She rifles through them for a moment as Sugar flops down with a weary groan. "We brought you some food." Brittany pulls out a Subway bag and Santana puts her laptop on the floor to sit up.

"Thanks," she says; accepting the food with a smile. She's actually really hungry so she quickly unwraps it.

"Sugar picked it for you. She said you'd love it," Brittany tells her.

"It'll be your favourite," Sugar agrees with a nod. "Promise."

Santana side-eyes the girl dubiously but shrugs and takes a bite of her sandwich and..."Oh my God this is amazing."

Sugar claps her hands together jubilantly. "I told you so!"

"Sugar has a good eye," Brittany adds. She starts to unload the contents of the bags and folds them neatly on the bed. The first thing Santana notices is how ostentatious everything seems to be and she smiles just a little despite being deeply unimpressed. This would be the exact opposite of what she had given them permission to buy. Not even the costume department of Game of Thrones needs this much faux fur. "We bought you a present too."

"You bought me a present with my own money? How kind," Santana says dryly. "Do you know how much hustling I had to do to earn that?"

"Shh," says Brittany. "You're spoiling it." She finds whatever it is she's looking for and pads over to Santana with a small bag in her hand.

Santana smiles despite herself and reaches in to pull out a pair of thick, fluffy red socks. As she holds them up, bits of material sparkle in the light. Not exactly part of her usual attire. "Um...they're..."

"We picked them because you're always cold and you could wear them in bed because your feet are always half-frozen when you sleep," says Brittany hopefully. "And red is your favourite colour."

For a few moments, Santana is speechless. This might be one of the most thoughtful things anyone has ever done for her.

"Thanks, Britt," she says quietly when she becomes aware that Sugar and Brittany are both staring at her, waiting for a response. Her heart swells in her chest like a balloon and she swallows against a lump in her throat. Ew. Why is she being so sappy? It's just a pair of freaking socks. "I love them."

A delighted smile captures Brittany's face and she leans forward and kisses Santana softly on the lips. It's only Sugar's presence that stops Santana from grabbing her girlfriend by the shoulders and throwing her on the bed to show Brittany just how appreciative she is. Over a pair of socks. They linger maybe a little longer than they should because Sugar groans loudly, causing Brittany to pull away.

"You two are so gross," Sugar announces, folding her arms across her chest. "I'm too young and awesome to be subjected to this. I'm going for a shower!"

"Well don't let me stop you," says Santana with a roll of her eyes.

Sugar huffs. "When I'm done I don't wanna see you two making out and you'd still better be wearing all your clothes!" Then with that, she pulls out a large purple towel from one of the many bags and storms into the bathroom, but not before turning around to point sternly at the two women as though scolding them.

Once the bathroom door has been slammed closed, Santana turns her head to gaze at Brittany with a sly smile. Her heartbeat picks up the pace when Brittany smiles back and takes her outstretched hand, allowing Santana to pull her down onto the bed. With a light chuckle, Brittany rolls onto her side so they're facing each other and up close, Santana can see a tiredness lingering in her face with faint, dark lines under her eyes.

"So did you miss me?" asks Brittany, twirling a piece of her hair around her pointer finger.

With a smile, Santana nods her head and tries not to think how embarrassing it would be if anyone could see her now. "Of course."

"I don't blame you," Brittany tells her seriously. "Sometimes I even miss myself. I'm great company."

"The best," Santana agrees.

"What did you do while we were gone? Did you learn anything?"

Santana pauses and licks her lips. She's a seasoned liar so this really shouldn't be an issue but something holds her back from an immediate response. Maybe it's Brittany's wide, trusting eyes looking at her like she can see all Santana's faults but cares for her anyway. It makes her feel like she's capable of so much more in life but all she wants to do is use it to make Brittany happy. "I um...just looked on the computer for anything that might help us. No luck though."

Guilt weighs heavily on her shoulders and she finds that for a moment she can't even look Brittany in the eye. It's crazy because Santana's whole livelihood revolves around lies and deception. One tiny little white lie to keep the woman she...likes quite a lot safe shouldn't make her feel this terrible. Deep down she knows it's better this way.

"Oh well. Maybe Puck or Quinn or _Sam_ will have something," says Brittany. She places delicate stress on her friend's name and Santana narrows her eyes at the inflection.

"Don't you like Sam?" she asks curiously. It's a silly question, she thinks, because everyone likes Sam. What's not to like? Apart from his bizarre comic book obsession, his need to emulate Sean Connery at inconvenient moments and his lips the size of east Africa that is.

Brittany's cheeks turn pink and she looks away. "Um...Of course I do. He's fine. Why wouldn't I?"

Now Santana's interest is really peaked. "Yeah? 'Cause it kind of sounds like you don't. What's wrong with him?"

"Nothing's wrong with him," Brittany protests, but she's starting to look remarkably flustered. "I like him okay and I didn't even speak to him all that much."

"Hmm," says Santana dubiously. "You're not really selling this to me, Britt. I'll let it go though." Brittany looks relieved. "For now."

"Fine," Brittany grumbles.

"So did you have fun shopping?" Santana asks, her hand finding Brittany's hip and squeezing in gently. As much to take as the last few days have been for Santana, she knows it's been ten times more overwhelming for Brittany. As she does at least once a day, she questions her decision to ever allow the woman to accompany her on her travels from one dangerous situation to another. It had been incredibly selfish.

"Yeah," replies Brittany. She reaches forward and kisses Santana's nose. "It would have been better if you'd come with me though."

Santana blushes. Do people kiss people on the nose? "Um..." She clears her throat and tries to ignore the way her body instinctively reacts to their proximity now they're alone. "Did you get any more info out of Sugar?"

"Oh yeah, totally," says Brittany seriously. "Okay, so she says she's from New York...or at least she was...but she isn't anymore because her mom wanted to move." Santana nods. This could be useful. "She says her mom is a hunter but I don't think she's ever been hunting. She really loves shopping and her favourite colour is pink." Okay, less useful. "She has a cat called Charity. Oh, and her mom's favourite band is Fleetwood Mac even though they're super old." For a moment, Santana stares at Brittany who looks rather pleased with herself. "We're friends now."

"I see," says Santana. She's not sure what Brittany thinks she's going to do with this information but she's still kind of impressed. "Her mom has good taste at least."

"Yeah," Brittany agrees. "She's still being really vague and not answering my proper questions but I don't think she's dangerous, Santana. I think we should let her stay with us 'cause what if something bad happens to her because we sent her away? She won't hurt us."

Santana sighs and looks away. She really doesn't like the idea of babysitting a teenager on top of everything they have to contend with but she knows that with one look at that pout Brittany is undoubtedly wearing her resolve will snap like a twig. But then, what choice does she have? As she ponders her options, she doesn't even notice the way Brittany inches forward until their bodies are almost touching.

"We can keep her safe for a little while and then we can convince her to let us take her home," Brittany whispers. A gentle hand closes the small gap between them and toys with the hem of Santana's black tank top before pushing underneath it and resting on her abdomen. Santana inhales sharply, her stomach quivering under the touch.

"It's dangerous here," Santana mutters half-heartedly. People have already died. People a lot more equipped to defend themselves than a frilly, teenage girl who spends more time melting in a puddle of tears than anything else.

Brittany's light smile doesn't waver and her fingers start to tickle patterns on Santana's skin. "But we have you here to protect us," she says. There's such unwavering trust in her voice that Santana can't help but lean forward and press her lips to Brittany's.

They kiss slowly and Santana moves herself forward to completely close the gap between their bodies. She loves that she can just do this now. She's spent so much time during this last month trying to restrain herself and keep her attraction hidden that it feels incredible being able to touch Brittany and not have to worry. She still worries a little, but Brittany has more than proved that she wants Santana close. It's a good thing too because Santana doesn't think she's ever been so physically drawn to somebody before. It's completely overwhelming in the most amazing way.

Her body temperature starts to rise as Brittany's hand ghosts over her ribs until she presses down firmly, pushing Santana onto her back. Then with a predatory gleam in her eye that sends delicious chills down Santana's spine, Brittany raises herself off the bed to straddle Santana's hips. The blue shirt she's wearing dips forwards enough for Santana to see the orange tank top underneath it.

"Trying to top me again, Miss Pierce?" says Santana with a smirk. Despite her words, she keeps still as Brittany leans forward again, blonde hair falling in waves around her face, to capture her lips with her own. Brittany doesn't even dignify her question with a response; Santana loves it and they both know it.

As Brittany continues to kiss her with increasing intensity, Santana groans and runs her hands up and down the woman's slim waist. She stops when they reach just below Brittany's breasts and she can feel her heartbeat fluttering wildly against her fingertips like something is trying to break free.

They're so caught up in simply being with each other, that they don't hear the water being shut off in the other room. They don't even hear the small crash of shampoo and conditioner bottles hitting the floor followed by a muted curse word. They certainly don't hear the quiet click of the lock and the door being swung open.

They _do_ hear Sugar's piercing shriek of horror though.

"Oh my _God_! What did I tell you about this?" Sugar yells, immediately throwing her hands over her eyes.

In utter shock, Brittany looses her balance and her full weight crashes down onto Santana, knocking the wind out of her and crushing her hand between their bodies.

"Do you even know how many years of therapy I'm going to need after this! I wouldn't even know where to start looking for a ritualistic eye bleaching!" Sugar rambles on as Brittany rolls off Santana and pulls her shirt down with shaky hands to cover her stomach. Santana really could cry right now. They were so close. "Why would you do this to me? Oh my poor, poor eyes!"

"All right, calm down," Santana wheezes out, clutching at her chest. Brittany looks at her apologetically but all Santana can think about is how hilariously red her girlfriend's ears are right now and the arousal intent on flooding through her body. Oh, and the howling Sugar is doing. She's sure that everyone in South Dakota can hear the howling.

"Calm down? _Calm down_? I feel like I might as well just end my life now!" Sugar peeks at them from between her fingers and once she realises it's safe to look again, she begins flapping her hands around. "How could you mentally scar me in this way? What did I ever do to deserve this? Oh God. This is going to haunt my nightmares for the rest of my life. I hope you're happy!"

"I'd be happier if you'd come in ten minutes later," Santana mutters as she brushes hair away from her face. Brittany fidgets next to her, still looking adorably flustered. "Maybe fifteen."

"You are paying for my psychiatrist!"

* * *

It's starting to get dark now and Santana's eyes unwillingly drift to her watch every three minutes. She needs to get her timing right otherwise her evening is not going to go the way she wants it to. Thankfully, nobody is really paying attention to her to notice the bizarre behaviour. They're all too busy listening to Artie ramble on about things they know and can work to their advantage when fighting a demon. He has yet to say anything that Santana doesn't already know so she isn't really concentrating. Brittany, however, is hanging on every word.

It had taken about twenty-five minutes of ranting and raving earlier before Sugar calmed down enough to stop visibly shuddering every few seconds. It would have been funny if Santana hadn't been so annoyed that she and Brittany had been interrupted. As punishment, Santana was forced to endure what Sugar had declared to be a 'fashion show' while she waltzed in and out of the bathroom in varying new outfits until both Brittany and Santana had selected their favourite. The number of accessories she and Brittany had purchased was actually ridiculous. In the end though, Sugar had chosen to wear the outfit Santana had picked, much to her surprise. It had been almost unbearable but it had distracted Santana from the guilt as it steadily built in her stomach. She hates lying to Brittany.

"...so we'll need to stock up on rock salt..." Artie drones on in the background.

Santana holds back a sigh and struggles to keep her face neutral. From the other side of the room, Quinn is making no such effort as she lounges over an armchair with a look of intense distain on her face. They're all back in Artie's library now and Santana is about ready to bash her head against the wall. It's probably been less than twenty-four hours since they arrived in this town and she already feels like she's climbing the walls. Research really is the worst thing ever.

"...and we should probably practice drawing as many Devil's Traps as possible..."

Rachel raises her hand to ask a question and Santana rolls her eyes when Artie smiles a little and pushes his glasses up his nose in a teacher-ly fashion before answering in the most patronising voice possible.

"...and holy water is a must..."

Santana glances at her watch for the millionth time. Before they arrived, she had actually reconsidered her stance to keep Mercedes' phone call to herself. Her plan would be a lot safer if she had somebody there to back her up. Her main issue is that maybe she'd have too much backup; too many cooks spoil the broth and all that. She knows that her plan can't happen without every single person occupying the room weighing in their thoughts and she just doesn't have that kind of time. It'll be better for everyone if she can just get this over with and bring back as much information she can. They'll be mad at her but it's a sacrifice she's willing to make.

"...I've made some calls and there are three different incantations we can use on the water..."

Oh God. She can't take any more of this. She stands up quickly and Artie trails off to look at her.

"I'm hungry. I'm going to pick up some pizzas or something," she says to the group.

"Awesome," says Finn lazily. Rory holds his hand up to him for a high-five but Finn just shakes his head.

Brittany looks up at her from the floor next to Sugar and moves to stand but Santana holds out her hands and shakes her head. "It's okay, Britt," she says, her voice not even close as nonchalant as she was hoping for. "You need to hear all this so you can stay and I'll be back soon."

With a rather disappointed look, Brittany nods her head and sits back down. Santana knows she's nervous about being left in a room full of strangers and she really does feel bad about leaving her, but it's for the best. At least she has Sugar to keep her company. Having said that, she'd feel a lot better about it if Artie wasn't clearly trying to hit on her girlfriend at every available opportunity. Maybe while she waits for the demon to arrive she'll look up the quickest way to disassemble a wheelchair. Just in case she needs it.

"I'm coming with you."

Santana looks around to see Puck getting to his feet. He stares back at her as though daring her to disagree.

There's an oddly determined look on his face and Santana has a feeling it's not just because he's getting sick of the sound of Artie's voice. There's no way she can say no without it looking suspicious.

So Santana just shrugs lightly. Having Puck with her might not be the worst thing. "Fine. You can split the cost with me then." Puck's face falls but he nods.

* * *

**Author's Note(s):** So we're about to meet our first demon. Exciting stuff. Thank you for reading!


	15. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Glee or the world in which this story is based.

**Author's Note(s): **Hey there. Bit of a gap between this chapter and last and as always I'm terribly sorry for that. Things just get away from me sometimes. Anywho, thank you very much for all the reviews I got for the last chapter :-) You're all very kind. I hope you enjoy this chapter!

**No Rest for the Wicked  
**_Chapter 13_

"So where are we really going?" Puck asks the second they sit in Santana's car. She glances over at him as she pulls on her seatbelt and tries not to look surprised. "Come on, man. I wasn't born yesterday. You've been looking at that watch non-stop for the last hour. You have something planned and I want in. You and Brittany are attached at the hip; the only way you'd leave her behind is because it's something stupid and dangerous. My speciality."

Santana sighs and puts the car into gear. "You're not wrong. Everything you do is stupid and dangerous. Emphasis on the _stupid_ part."

"No need to get tetchy," replies Puck with a smirk. "What's wrong? Sugar being a cockblock?"

"Oh my God you have no idea!" Santana bursts out unhappily, forgetting that she's been trying to keep her relationship with Brittany on the down low. "We were _so close_ before but Miss Pretty-in-Pink had to have the shortest shower in the history of cleanliness and walk in on us. I can still hear her screams ringing in my head." Puck's smug grin widens suggestively. "Oh don't even!" she adds before he can weigh in with another vile and lecherous comment.

"I wasn't going to say anything," Puck argues, but the look on his face hints otherwise.

"Whatever," Santana says. She licks her lips and focuses her attention on driving. The roads aren't very well marked in this place and half the time she ends up driving through fields she isn't supposed to. On their way over here Brittany and Sugar had almost deafened her because they were convinced she was going to run over a cow. Yeah, because she really wants to clean dead cow from her car.

"You still haven't answered my question," says Puck after a couple of minutes. "Where are we going? And more importantly, are we picking up the pizzas before or after we get there? I'm starving."

Choosing to ignore Puck's second question, Santana replies, "We're going back to my motel room."

"You need a hit from the Puckzilla?" Puck says knowingly. "Is Brittany not satisfying you?"

Santana bites back nausea and shoots Puck the dirtiest look she can muster. "I'll pass. Unlike those horrific times spent with you, I've never had to fake an orgasm with Brittany."

"That stings, Lespez," says Puck. He brings a hand to his heart and shakes his head. "Can I really be to blame for not making the gay chick happy? I should be given a trophy for ringing your bell as many times as I did."

"I hope you get hit by a truck," Santana bites. She should have asked Sam to come with her because she's not sure how much more of Puck she can deal with today.

Something he said makes her stop and think though. She's never really thought of herself as _gay _before. Sleeping with women has always been more enjoyable for her and if she's honest with herself, deep down she's never really felt any particular affection towards the men that have come and gone in her life. Well...nobody except Trouty Mouth, but that's a different kind of affection and thankfully she's never gone _there_ with him. She has no particular issue with Puck or anything but she's never wanted to have sex with him for any reason other than to scratch an itch. She's never just _wanted_ him like she wants Brittany. Does that make her gay?

Oh well, it's not like it matters. She has Brittany now so it's not like she needs to wax lyrical about the mysteries of human sexuality. Besides, Kurt probably has the gay angst market cornered in their circle of hunters and she wouldn't want to step on anybody's turf. Mostly.

Shaking her head to dispel her rather unwelcome musings, Santana glances at Puck, who is looking around incessantly as though trying to figure out where they're going.

"We're going to catch ourselves a demon," Santana tells him. His eyebrows shoot up.

"Come again?"

"You heard me," says Santana. She turns left past a Chinese takeout and makes a mental note of it. If she can't find anywhere to buy pizza she'll pick something up from here. "I got a call from Mercedes earlier and she reckons there'll be a demon sneaking around my motel room in about half an hour."

Puck narrows his eyes thoughtfully, but to his credit doesn't look shocked. "And you've decided not to tell anyone about this because..."

"You know why," Santana shoots back. "Any topic of conversation turns into a massive pissing contest and I want results, not a six hour debate with Quinn over who gets to risk their life the most." Puck's expression darkens a little as it always does when Quinn gets mentioned but Santana ignores it. She's really not interested in their squabbles. "I cannot sit through another hour long discussion about the best exorcism to use either; we have three that are confirmed to work and shaving a couple of seconds off the time it takes to say them isn't worth the risk of _experimenting_."

It's interesting to Santana that the people arguing in favour of trying out these new exorcisms are Artie, Rory and Rachel. The three people most unlikely to be performing them. She guesses it's easier to make these dangerous calls from the sidelines when it isn't your own life on the line. Why Rachel even gets a say in any of it is beyond her; the girl has never been on a hunt in her life as far as Santana is aware.

"Yeah, okay," Puck agrees. "That doesn't explain why Brittany isn't here though."

Guilt that Santana has managed to push to one side until now begins to gnaw at her once more. "It's none of your fucking business!" she snaps at him.

As she drives, she can see Puck watching her like she's some kind of puzzle until comprehension dawns across his face. She grips the steering wheel tightly and tries to ignore him.

"That is _adorable_," he says, his voice dripping with mockery. "Are you trying to protect ickle Britty from the big bad demons?" If Santana hadn't been driving, she would have punched him. "Now if that's not true love then I don't know what is."

"I really can't wait until that rodent jumps off your head and bites your throat," Santana says scathingly. Puck runs a hand over his mohawk, looking more than a little hurt.

"Well I hope you have a plan to calm the beast because she is _not_ going to be happy when we get back," replies Puck. Santana frowns.

"What do you mean?"

Puck smirks and raises and eyebrow. "You think the wife is going to be happy that you've run off to fight demons on your own?"

"She's not my wife," Santana mumbles, but her mind is elsewhere. It hasn't really occurred to her that Brittany might be mad with her for leaving her behind. As long as she comes back in one piece (which she will) then what's the big deal? Brittany wouldn't really like fighting demons anyway.

Who is she kidding? Brittany is going to be furious with her for leaving her behind. She'll be lucky if she isn't relegated to sleeping with Sugar tonight. Or on the floor. God damn it.

* * *

The first thing Santana realises as she and Puck sit waiting in the dark bathroom connected to her motel room, is that this demon is not quite the smooth operator either of them are used to when it comes to this level of pure evil. At least, that's what Santana assumes going off the crash of someone walking into one of the small tables beside the beds. She and Puck share a confused look; already this isn't going how they expected it. Maybe Mercedes was wrong and this isn't a demon at all. That doesn't seem likely though. Santana has never known the woman to be wrong before. Another _crash_. But then...there's a first for everything.

Puck just shrugs his shoulders at her and they silently continue to listen. The demon seems to be on the move again, opening and closing drawers like it's looking for something. Santana can't for the life of her think what it might be. She and Brittany have nothing that the demons might want. Unless he's after one of Sugar's new array of decorative scarves which, as far as Santana is concerned, he's quite welcome to.

It isn't until they hear a hiss and the sound of a body hitting the ground that Santana knows her plan has worked. She smirks at Puck who quirks his eyebrow in amusement. They've never heard of a demon stumbling to the ground before.

"Showtime," he says with a small amount of excitement.

Santana inclines her head in agreements and raises her sawed-off double barrel shotgun filled with rock salt to aim at the grubby bathroom door. It won't do much damage but rock salt is one of the very few things in existence that can actually harm a demon. Even then all it can really do is delay them for a little while so as a weapon it isn't all that useful.

Puck brings a finger to his lips in a gesture of silence as his other hand reaches for the door handle and turns it slowly. Santana is the first to exit into the dark bedroom with her companion following behind, his own weapon pointing almost blindly ahead of him. As it turns out, they needn't have worried. The demon is sprawled on his back with a look of utmost worry on his face. Santana glances at Puck, who looks as confused as she is.

"You don't have to tiptoe," says the demon. "I can see you." His voice is higher pitched than Santana had expected and she points her gun at him as Puck moves around the room to switch on the lamps, casting an ominous glow. Mercedes had been right about that terrible hairstyle. "What did you do to me? Why am I stuck here?" the demon then demands. He sits up and looks at Santana through cold, unblinking eyes. She jerks her head in an upwards motion and he follows her gaze to the ceiling. "Oh."

Above his head is a large red circle displaying a pentagram and several shapes and runes in between each point. A Devil's Trap. It had taken quite a bit of effort on Santana's part to reach the ceiling with only the beds to stand on and a bottle of spray paint, but she'd just about managed it. It was the first thing her father had taught her how to do when they'd originally come across a demon. Demons can't get in or out of them, so he'd said. He then took her to under some seedy concrete bridge and made her practice drawing them on the walls. It had been almost relaxing until that homeless guy appeared and started yelling at them to get out of his house.

"How did you know I was coming?" asks the demon with a half smirk on his face. Glasses perch on the end of his nose as he eyes Santana, but honestly, she's never seen a less threatening foe in her life. She knows not to lower her guard though.

"We'll ask the questions," Puck snaps, circling the edge of the Devil's Trap, his gun trained on the demon.

"You're getting nothing from me," says the demon smugly. He mimes zipping his lips closed but Santana knows better. If there's one thing she's learned from the twice she's encountered demons, it's that they really _love_ to talk. Like Rachel.

"We'll see," replies Santana. She puts her shotgun on Sugar's bed and moves to her own bedside table where a water bottle sits. She runs her fingers delicately across the cap before picking it up and swinging it nonchalantly by her side. The demon eyes her warily; he must already knows what's in that bottle.

"Why did you come here?" says Puck, drawing the attention from Santana. To her amusement, his voice has suddenly dropped about an octave lower in an attempt at intimidation. It seems to work though because the demon quivers under his furious gaze.

"To kill the hunters that were sleeping here," says the demon in that gratingly high pitched voice that sounds partway through breaking. He looks as though he's about to wet himself but there's still an air of smugness hanging around his words. Santana doesn't like it at all.

"Are you working alone or are there others here?" Puck demands.

The demon smirks. "I think you should ask more nicely."

Puck looks to her so Santana unscrews the lid from her bottle and without warning throws the contents on the demon.

The effect is immediate. The demon screams and writhes on the floor as white steam fizzles off his skin. Holy water; gotta love it. It's the only way to hurt the demon without hurting the poor bastard being possessed. Assuming the kid is even still alive in there somewhere.

"Bitch!" he screams through gasps of agony. He opens his eyes and Santana shudders. Gone are the almost innocent dark brown eyes and in their place is pure blackness.

"That's what they tell me," Santana agrees. "Now are you going to answer our questions?"

"Fuck. You!" the demon snarls, shaking his head like a dog to throw the excess water aside. He blinks and much to Santana's relief, his eyes turn back to normal.

"I'd rather die," she replies. She moves back to the bedside table and withdraws another two bottles of holy water from the drawer. She's surprised he didn't find them when he was conducting his little search of the room earlier.

"That can be arranged," says the demon with an uncomfortable giggle.

"The only person dying tonight is you," says Puck gruffly. The demon's smile fades a little but his bravado remains. At least, it does until Santana takes the cap off another bottle and empties the contents onto his head. He cries out in pain and squirms erratically on the ground. It's a good job there's nobody else staying in this hell hole motel or they'd probably have the police banging on the door right about now.

"Okay, okay! Stop!" Santana raises a sceptical eyebrow and discards the empty bottle. "I'll tell you what you want to know!" He's almost weeping now. Santana isn't sure if demons can cry but it looks like this one is on the cusp.

"Then do it!" says Puck coldly. "Tell us what we need to know and maybe we'll make your death as painless as possible."

"I'm alone!" says the demon. "I just..." He sits up and gasps for breath as more of the water runs from his hair and down his neck, causing another burning hiss as it makes contact with his skin. "I just wanted to prove I was good enough! When I take back the bodies of two hunters they'll _have_ to respect me."

"See, it's this kind of shitty movie logic that makes me hate demons more than any other supernatural piece of crap," Puck remarks disgustedly. "Seriously, dude, have you never watched TV? You gotta know that never works out for anybody but the hero and never until right at the end."

"I am the hero," the demon whines.

Santana opens her mouth to say something, but she's cut off by a loud beeping noise coming from her pocket. _Ooops_. She really had meant to switch off her phone when they were camped out in the bathroom.

She pulls her cell from her pocket and flips it open. It's a text from Brittany.

_Where are you? Are you okay? B x_

"Oh I'm sorry, Santana. Is our trying to save the world getting in the way of your social life?" says Puck in annoyance.

Santana hesitates for a moment before tapping out a quick reply. _Got held up. Back soon. S x_

"Shut the fuck up, Puck," snaps Santana, switching off her phone and turning her attention back to the task at hand. The demon smirks knowingly at her and his eyes flicker black for a moment; she has to force herself not the shiver.

She doesn't know what it is, but something doesn't feel right about this. Maybe she's just being paranoid because usually she doesn't have as much forewarning as this which means her plans, more often than not, fall askew. Things usually don't go her way like this and there's a prickling at the back of her neck that can't be attributed to the cold bite in the air. Maybe it's just her body reacting to the knowledge that she's in the room with an actual demon. Her previous memories of them aren't exactly fond ones.

Oh well. No point in dwelling on it now.

"Who is your next target?" says Santana, waving the third bottle of holy water threateningly.

The demon looks down miserably. "The Schuesters. I think." If it hadn't been clear before that this pathetic waste of space is at the bottom of the demonic food chain, it certainly is now. He _thinks_? "In Ohio."

Will and Emma. Santana hasn't seen them in years. In fact, she doesn't even think Will hunts anymore. Not since Emma got pregnant.

"Why?" Puck asks. He looks vaguely confused so Santana guesses he's thinking the same thing she is. Why would the demons go after someone who isn't even a threat to them?

Even in Will's prime he was never that great at hunting. He was much better at teaching others how to hunt. At least that's what Santana has always thought. Once when she was first starting out hunting with her father he'd ditched her with Will for two whole weeks because he said there was something he wanted to deal with on his own. To this day Santana doesn't know where he went but Will had sat her down and explained to her so many different creatures she might encounter and how to beat them and he'd done it devoid of the angry impatience her father seemed incapable of speaking without. She liked him well enough. A bit of a pervert and always seemed to find some kind of excuse to touch whomever he happened to be with at the time but that's neither here nor there.

"When?" Puck questions him further. The demon just shrugs and pushes his glasses up his wet nose. Or rather the guy he's possessing's glasses. She's sure that no demon needs corrective eyewear. She can't help but wonder why out of all the potential vessels in this area the demon chose a spotty, bespectacled teen in inhabit. "I said _when_!"

The demon flinches. "I don't know! The end of the week..."

That gives them a few days at least, assuming he's telling the truth. Or is even right. He doesn't sound all that sure of himself. He knows Will and Emma's name though and where they live so it's unlikely he's pulled it out of his ass on a whim and happened to be right. She doesn't know how to contact them directly but she'll give Holly Holiday a call when all this is wrapped up so she can warn them. She's pretty sure they live close by to each other.

Her eyes meet Puck's across the dimly lit room but she can't read much from his face.

"Fine," says Santana. "What can you tell us about Sue?"

The demon actually looks surprised for a second. "You know her name," he observes. Santana begins to unscrew the lid to her final bottle of holy water. "Wait! No!" She rolls her eyes. "What do you want to know?"

"What's her plan?" asks Puck. He begins to walk around the circle and the demon tracks him cautiously with his eyes.

"Isn't it obvious?" he says haughtily, but he quails under Puck's furious glare. "Kill the opposition. Take over. This planet is rightfully ours." That's not really how Santana remembers the stories going but whatever. Some level of delusion is inevitable.

"So that's it then?" says Santana. Puck has moved to stand next to her now. "World domination?"

"Is that not enough?" Puck says, giving her a funny look. She purses her lips and ignores him. They've got all they can out of this evil little douchebag now.

"Well I gotta say, Jewfro, I'm a little underwhelmed," she says. Puck nods at her and she takes a piece of paper from her pocket and tosses the bottle of water onto the bed.

The demon's mood seems to shift and he giggles hysterically as burning holy water drips from his hair. "You shouldn't underestimate, _Santana_; it might be the death of you." His eyes are black again.

Chills run down Santana's spine and she swallows hard. She's heard enough.

"Do it," Puck says, with one final disgusted look at the demon.

She flattens out her piece of paper and begins to read.

_Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus  
__omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio  
infernalis adversarii, omnis legio,  
omnis congregatio et secta diabolica._

The demon's hysterical giggles start to fade away and his eyes widen in fear.

_Ergo draco maledicte_  
_et omnis legio diabolica adjuramus te._  
_cessa decipere humanas creaturas,_  
_eisque aeternae Perditionis venenum propinare._

His whole body starts to twitch and shake on the ground like a dying insect.

_Vade, Satana, inventor et magister_  
_omnis fallaciae, hostis humanae salutis._  
_Humiliare sub potenti manu dei,_  
_contremisce et effuge, invocato a_  
_nobis sancto et terribili nomine,_  
_quem inferi tremunt._

Screams start to fill the room as the demon raises his hands in an attempt to block out the sound, his weak protests falling on deaf ears.

_Ab insidiis diaboli, libera nos, Domine._  
_Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus_  
_omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio_  
_infernalis adversarii,omnis legio,_  
_omnis congregatio et secta diabolica._

The shrieks become louder as the spasms become harsher and Santana almost flinches. Objectively she knows that it's only the demon hurting because of her actions; but all she can see is a sixteen year old boy writhing on the ground in pain. She takes a deep breath to steady herself and continues to recite.

_Ergo draco maledicte_  
_et omnis legio diabolica adjuramus te._  
_Cessa decipere humanas creaturas,_  
_eisque aeternae Perditionis venenum propinare._  
_Ut Ecclesiam tuam secura tibi facias libertate servire_  
_te rogamus, audi nos._

With one final dying shriek, black smoke pours from the boy's mouth and coils around him, twisting and turning in the dark room as though desperately seeking an escape. Santana swallows and takes a reflexive step backwards as the smoke expands and contracts wildly until finally giving up it's struggle and plunging into the ground in a fiery haze. Back to hell where it belongs.

Santana releases a breath she hadn't realised she was holding and looks over to Puck. He offers her his usual smirk, one that says this was a job well done, but even in the dimly lit room she can see a small trace of fear in his eyes. Exorcism isn't for the faint hearted.

"You're so hot when you speak Latin," Puck tells her after a moment of awkward silence. She purses her lips at him and moves slowly to the boy lying on the floor in front of her. His back is to them and so far she can see no signs of life. Then, kneeling down, she checks his pulse and sighs.

"He's dead," she says simply. Puck visibly deflates. There's no need for a demon to kill it's vessel when it possesses somebody but a lot of them do it anyway just because they can. It's so senseless.

And now they have to go and bury the body. Fuck. They're never getting back to Artie's at this rate.

* * *

Once Santana has thrown their shovels into the trunk of her car, she brushes dirt from her hands onto her jeans. In the end, they took the body to an actual graveyard. It's sad that the kid's parents will never know what happened to him but Santana tries not to dwell on it because there isn't a whole lot she can do.

"Hey, Puck," says Santana once they're finally seated. She doesn't want to get back to Artie's before she's voiced the concerns that have been playing on her mind since she first laid eyes on the demon.

"What?" he says gruffly, readjusting his green military jacket. He's still a bit breathless from the digging.

"Is it just me or did that seem way too easy?" she asks.

Puck just shrugs at her. "Nah. You just planned it well and we knew he was coming. He never stood a chance." She still feels uneasy, but Santana nods and shifts the car into gear. They'd better go and get that pizza or her life won't be worth living once they get back to the guys.

* * *

It's quite late by the time they get back to Artie's house but everyone's cars are still around so obviously nobody has sent out a search party to find them yet. Santana tries and fails not to be offended by that. She and Puck could be dead somewhere right now and nobody could even be bothered to do a quick sweep of the area? Rude.

She's broken out of her thoughts by Puck thumping loudly on the front door. It takes less than ten seconds for it to be swung open, and when it is the person stood behind it is not the yappy little man-pup Santana was expecting. Instead, Quinn stands in front of them, face like thunder with her hands on her hips. Santana licks her lips and cocks an eyebrow.

"Problem?" she asks, glancing at Puck who seems to be kicking at the floor guiltily. Coward.

"Where the hell have you been?" Quinn seethes.

"Maybe if you let us in we'll tell you," replies Santana. Quinn glares at her murderously but Santana ignores her and pushes past to make her way to the kitchen. She's not at all surprised that Quinn is already furious. She probably realised when they hadn't returned within half an hour that they were up to something that she hadn't been made privy too. Behind her, she can hear Puck's mumbled apologies before he jogs, eight boxes of pizza in hand, down the hallway to catch up with her.

"We come bearing gifts," Santana announces as she pushes open the door and moves into the brightly lit kitchen. Immediately, her eyes zone in on Brittany. To her surprise, rather than look furious as Santana was expecting, she seems to be wearing a serene smile on her face and offers Santana a quick wave. "Hey, Britt." She knows not to get her hopes up; as soon as she explains where she's been she doubts that smile will be sticking around.

There's a polite chorus of suspicious hellos and Finn jumps from his chair to assist Puck with his precious cargo.

"I hope you brought something vegan, Santana," says Rachel as Santana sits in the empty chair next to Sugar.

"Nope," she says, her mouth popping around the 'p'. "I don't believe in veganism."

"Veganism is for loudmouthed hippies," Sugar adds, causing Santana to smirk with approval. Rachel looks positively scandalised but before she can launch into what Santana imagines is going to be a longwinded diatribe, she's interrupted by an incredibly pissed off Quinn slamming a large book down on the table. If she wanted people's attention then she certainly has it now.

"Am I the _only_ person who wants to know where the hell they've been for the last three hours?" Quinn demands. "It does not take that long to find a takeout! What aren't you telling us?"

"Come on now, Quinn," says Rory. "There's no need t' shout..." Quinn glares at him. "...is what someone might say. Not me though. Carry on."

"Pathetic," Santana breathes, but everyone's eyes are on her now. Everyone except Puck who is tearing his first slice from the pepperoni pizza he just placed on the table.

"Do you have something to share with the group, Santana?" Rachel prompts. Why does everyone assume this was her doing? Maybe it was Puck's fault they were gone for all that time. It wasn't but that's really not the point.

"You were gone for forever," says Sam, tilting his head quizzically and causing blonde hair to fall over his eyes.

"Okay, I'm going to need you all to not freak out," says Santana, scanning everyone's faces for signs of agreement. Quinn folds her arms and looks down her nose. "I went to catch a demon."

As predicted, the whole room explodes in a torrent of furious sound but Santana only has eyes and ears for one person. Apparently, she needn't have worried because with the exception of Puck, Brittany is the only person around the table not freaking out right now. She simply smiles lightly with a vague look of confusion in her eyes. Santana feel a surge of relief and smiles back before turning her attention back to exasperating noise-makers.

"Okay, first of all," Santana yells at the top of her voice. She is ignored. "Hey!" The group now seem to be turning on each other if the way Quinn is screeching at Finn and Rory is anything to go by. She licks her lips and reaches back to pull her gun from the waistband of her jeans and points it upwards.

"DO NOT SHOOT A HOLE IN MY CEILING!"

How Artie made himself heard above all the squabbling is beyond Santana, but she smirks as the room quietens down and returns her gun to its rightful place.

"You already knew there was going to be a demon," says Quinn accusingly. "You think we didn't all see you checking your watch all the livelong night?"

Finn raises a hand. "Um...I didn't."

"Yes I did," Santana nods in agreement. "And yes I did."

"How?" Artie asks. He doesn't seem angry so Santana considers it a win.

"Mercedes called me this morning because she had one of her voodoo vision things," Santana replies. "By the way, Britt, she asked for you to text her."

Brittany nods while Sam sulks at the opposite side of the table, mumbling something about why Mercedes hadn't called him instead.

"And you just didn't think it was worth mentioning?" Quinn fumes. Her eyes are stormy in a way that Santana might find hot if she didn't dislike Quinn so much.

"Now now," says Santana in a patronising voice. "No need to get testy. I acted for the good of the group." She reaches forward and takes a slice of pizza from the middle of the table and takes a large bite. Eh, not bad. Bit cold though.

"Did you know about this too?" Quinn whirls around and focuses her anger on Puck.

Puck's eyes widen in fear. "Don't drag me into this. I didn't know a thing until we got there," he says through a mouthful of food.

"Thanks for the backup," Santana says scathingly.

Puck replies with something that sounds a lot like, "You're on your own with this, Satan." It's hard to tell through the half-chewed pizza in his mouth.

"Does it really matter why or how it happened?" asks Brittany, showing a rare display of confidence. "Shouldn't we just care about what Santana found out?"

Santana smiles at her, incredibly pleased that her girlfriend doesn't seem angry with her. "Thank you, Brittany. Finally, someone who understands what's important here. Now do you want to know what it said or not?"

Obviously, Quinn disagrees but she clenches her jaw and gives Santana a terse nod.

"How did you catch it?" Rachel asks. Curiosity has overridden her annoyance over the lack of vegan food.

"Devil's Trap on the ceiling, of course." Santana rolls her eyes. She knows Rachel has never been hunting but Artie has been rambling on about this shit all day.

"Just tell us what he told you," says Brittany rather abruptly.

So Santana explains to them exactly what happened and everything the demon revealed to her while subtly embellishing certain parts to make herself sound even more heroic. Everyone knows she's making that stuff up but the way Quinn's grip on her glass of water gets tighter and tighter until her knuckles turn white makes it all worth it. When she gets to the part about Will and Emma, Brittany's eyes widen and she whispers, "He told you that?"

"Knowing that may be the only advantage we get in this war," Artie adds. "We need to use this information."

"It's not a whole lot of time to make a plan though," says Sam worriedly. "It's one thing to trap one dude but we can't catch a whole bunch of them."

"Um...shouldn't we warn Mr Schue first so he can get out of Lima?" Finn says. He grabs the final slice of pizza and throws the empty box on the floor.

"I called Holly and told her to pass on the message already," says Santana. As much as she'd like to use them as bait, even she isn't heartless enough to chance risking their child. "Anyway, that was all we could get out of him. He knew fuck all useful. Whelp."

"It's true," Puck adds. "He was at the bottom of the food chain."

"What about the kid he possessed?" Sam asks. Santana just looks away but everyone knows from her lack of response what happened. She wishes she were sat next to Brittany so she could offer some sort of comfort because if she's learnt anything it's that her girlfriend is not as hardened as the rest of them to the death of innocent people. Although, looking at her she doesn't seem all that concerned. Maybe she doesn't understand what Santana was saying. Or not saying in this instance. It's probably better this way, she supposes.

Beside her, Sugar yawns loudly and leans back in her chair. Obviously her long morning of spending Santana's money has taken it's toll on the teenager. It's a hard life.

"Yeah," Santana continues with her story, "after the demon told us about Will and Emma we exorcised it. That's it from our end." Santana stands up and moves over to the kitchen counter to pick up another pizza box (the vegetarian one) before returning to her chair. "Eat your vegetables," she tells Sugar, causing the girl to smile. She'd noticed she hasn't really eaten much yet. "How about you guys?" she then says more loudly. "Did you find anything out while we were gone?"

"Not a bloody thing," says Rory.

"We found several alternative exorcisms," Rachel contributes. "They're no shorter than the ones we already have. However we–"

"–are you absolutely sure that's all the demon said?" Brittany interrupts Rachel.

"I'm sure," Santana replies, raising an eyebrow. Brittany licks her lips and nods thoughtfully.

When it's fully established that nobody has any additional information that might be helpful, the group migrate back to the library to pick up where they left off. Santana resumes her place next to Brittany on the floor and they delve back into the world of supernatural as it was written before the wheel was invented. It's pretty dry material but at least Brittany seems to be handling it better now based on her increased reading speed. Judging from her expression, Santana might even hold the notion that her girlfriend is even understanding bits of it. Sugar still seems to be struggling though.

At one point during the evening, Santana gets the oddest sensation that someone is watching her but as soon as she looks up the feeling dissolves. She lets out a sigh and rubs her eyes. Seems like tiredness is catching up with her again.

"Hey, Britt?" she says softly. Brittany looks up from her book. "You wanna head back to the motel? We're getting nowhere anyway so we might as well take a break."

"Agreed," says Sugar. Her almost squeaky voice has become more tolerable for Santana now oddly enough.

"Sure," Brittany agrees, slamming her book closed and dropping in to one side. She misses the way Artie flinches at the loud impact of it hitting the floor. He's nowhere near as fastidious about his books as Kurt but nobody likes their possessions being mishandled. "Hey, do you think we could go for a walk first?"

"_What_?"

Brittany looks down sheepishly. "It just seems like a really nice night...I thought we could go for a walk because it's so stuffy inside. Sorry. It was a stupid idea."

"No it wasn't," Santana hastily rushes to assure her. "It's a um...good idea. Yeah. Of course we can go for a walk first." It's cold outside. Far too cold to be _walking_. Ugh.

Santana pushes herself to her feet and offers a hand to Brittany. "We're leaving," Santana announces, earning herself a few lacklustre goodbyes and a cold stare from Quinn. Sugar yawns and almost leans into Santana's side before she stops herself and looks down. It's weird, but Santana almost feels guilty about it so she pats the teenager on the shoulder with as much affection as she can...which admittedly isn't very much at all. Sugar seems to appreciate it though and stands just a bit closer.

As they move to leave, Brittany is the first person to exit the library. That's why nobody notices the way her eyes flicker black before she turns back to Santana and offers her a tranquil smile.

* * *

**Author's Note(s):** Thank you for reading!

Also, as always feel free to direct any questions to my Tumblr account (cognitivism) if you don't have an account on here.


	16. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Glee or the world in which this story is based.

**Author's Note(s): **Merry Christmas (and whatever other holiday you may be celebrating right now), one and all! As always, thanks for all the reviews, favouriting, alerts and sticking with me for all this time. I hope everyone has a great holiday!

**No Rest for the Wicked  
**_Chapter 14_

Once they've exited into the crisp night air, Brittany pauses and holds out her hand for Santana to grasp. Sugar grumbles under her breath half-heartedly about unnecessary public displays of affection but still hurries to keep level with them as Brittany leads them in the opposite direction of their car and around the back of the house. The vague sound of people talking from within the building can still be heard but it grows fainter the further they weave through the maze cars, shining dully in the half moonlight.

"Where are we going?" Santana questions after a couple of minutes, her breath ghosting in front of her as she exhales. Brittany seems to be walking with purpose but as far as Santana knows her girlfriend has never been back here before.

Brittany shrugs her shoulders. "Don't know. I thought we could explore."

"It's cold," Sugar complains, wrapping her arms around herself. Santana wholeheartedly agrees. "Can't we explore tomorrow? I'm still tired from that marathon shopping."

"Marathon shopping?" Santana asks with a short laugh. "I think there are about five shops in this whole town and at least three of them seem to exclusively sell plaid."

A longsuffering sigh escapes Sugar's lips and she shakes her head. "You've never understood the intricacies and complex world of materialism." It sounds like it should be a joke but the teenager seems deadly serious. "It's your worst quality."

"Oh I've _never_ understood it? And you know this from these whole few days of following me around?" Santana says. Brittany turns her head to gaze at Sugar with a calculating expression on her face.

"Um..." Sugar gulps. "Yeah, I can tell these things about a person just by looking at them. It's a gift. And a curse."

Santana just rolls her eyes. Sugar may be the weirdest person she's ever met, and that's coming from someone who has conversed with Rory Flanagan. Before Santana can dwell on this thought Brittany squeezes her fingers lightly and points to a relatively small wooden building up ahead.

"What do you think is in there?" she asks.

"I don't know." _And I don't care_. It looks big enough to store a couple of cars in there but not much else. "Maybe it's garage? Or a big tool shed."

Brittany looks at her with a glint in her eye. "Let's go look."

Suppressing a sigh, Santana nods her head and lets Brittany pull her with renewed vigour. This might actually be fun if it were just the two of them; Santana likes the idea of desecrating Artie's home by having sex with Brittany in as many places as possible. Sugar trailing behind them puts a bit of a damper on that plan though. They've mentally scarred the kid enough for one day.

They reach the door which seems to be held closed by a large, unlocked padlock. "You'd think Artie would have better security in this place," she remarks.

Brittany looks at her with a strange smirk that makes the hairs on the back of Santana's neck prickle. "You would think," Brittany agrees. Santana swallows and brushes away the feeling of unease. It's probably just the cold breeze getting to her.

"Are we gonna stand out her all night? Open it!" says Sugar loudly. So Santana reaches forward, unhooks the padlock and throws it on the floor before she pulls open the door. She really has no idea why Brittany wants to go in here.

It's pitch black but she steps inside anyway and squints in an attempt to see. Brittany brushes past her in the dark and Santana tries to track her movements through hearing alone. It takes a few seconds but eventually her girlfriend finds a lamp and switches it on, casting a rather ominous glow around the room. At first glance it looks very much like a garage, as Santana expected, except without any cars. There's a variety of tools scattered haphazardly on the floor and hanging from the walls. It confuses Santana a little because Artie can reach neither the ones on the wall or navigate past the ones on the floor without crashing his wheelchair. Maybe this is where Rory works (if he's capable of it, which she very much doubts).

Brittany wanders around, inspecting things as she goes while Sugar sidles up next to Santana and sighs. "Have you seen how many spiders are in here?" she says nervously. Santana smirks down at her. "Are we sure it's the demons we should be worried about because there's probably enough of them to start their own apocalypse. A spiderocalypse."

"We should probably focus on the demons for now," Santana tells her. "We can buy some bug spray tomorrow though if it makes you feel better."

Sugar smiles. "Awesome. Will it be enough though? We could just set fire to this place and get rid of them all at once."

"Um..." Santana's not sure if Sugar is joking or not. "We'll call arson 'plan b' for now. Don't wanna piss off Artie until we've exhausted his library."

"That sounds fair," says Sugar. Then she smiles in that guileless way Brittany does sometimes.

They fall silent and track Brittany's progress as she picks up certain things and discards them. "Well," she says after a couple of minutes, "This isn't quite what I was hoping for but I suppose it will have to suffice." The coldness in her tone causes Santana to shiver and she licks her lips. Since when does Brittany use words like 'suffice'?

"What do you mean, Britt?" she asks in an even voice. "What were you looking for?"

Something doesn't feel right and Santana finds it suddenly harder to breathe.

"I wanted somewhere with a little more...panache. It seems a shame to kill the infamous Santana Lopez in such a dingy little hole." Before she'd even finished her second sentence Santana had pulled a gun from the back of her jeans and aimed it at Brittany's head. Sugar lets out a terrified shriek and begins to back away.

"Who are you and what the fuck have you done with Brittany?" Santana says, clicking the safety off her weapon.

Brittany...or whoever she is...just laughs. It sounds nothing like _her_ Brittany. "Oh, Santana. I think you know exactly who I am." Santana swallows as Brittany blinks, revealing dead, black eyes in place of her girlfriend's warm blues. Fuck. How has she not noticed this before now?

Two hands grip at her, fingernails digging into her arm and Santana glances sideways to see Sugar clutching her desperately with tears running down her face. She takes in a steady breath and uses her free hand to push the girl behind her, attention staying on the demon.

"It's adorable that you think you can protect her," says the demon with mock sincerity, "truly." She waves her hand and Santana jerks forward as her gun as wrenched from her grasp and hits the wall. "Let's not even pretend you would have used that."

She wouldn't have, but being completely unarmed makes Santana feel so much more exposed. The demon smirks at her as though reading her thoughts. They both know Santana won't do anything that could hurt Brittany.

"What do you want from me?" Santana asks after a moment, trying and not completely succeeding to keep her voice steady. She's been in hopeless situations countless times but usually she only has herself to worry about. Now, she needs to get Sugar the hell out of there and somehow get that demon bitch out of her girlfriend. Assuming Brittany is still alive. Santana's heart falters for a second and her breath comes out in a sharp huff. She can't afford to think like that. Of course Brittany is still alive.

The demon laughs at her. "I've already told you what I want; your death. And the death of every other hunter in this hovel who dares to defy our leader. Thinking you can defeat us is _laughable_."

It hurts Santana in places she didn't know existed inside her to hear Brittany's voice directed at her with such malice but Santana does what she does best and pushes it to one side, compartmentalised to cry about at a later date. She needs a plan and she needs one fast. There's always a way out.

"How long?" she asks. It's vague but the demon seems to know what she's talking about.

"How long have I been living inside your _darling_ little girlfriend?" Santana gives a nod as the demon runs its fingers through Brittany's hair. "Not long. I almost didn't make it in at all. You didn't follow the plan, Santana." The demon wags it's finger at Santana like she's scolding her.

"What do you mean?" Santana probes. Behind her, she can feel Sugar start to take very small steps backwards. Maybe if she can get to the door she can make a run for it while Santana holds Brittany...the demon...back.

"You were supposed to take this pretty blonde thing with you," the demon says, looking down at her body appraisingly. Santana feels her eyes widen. "Oh yes. That poor sap you exorcised earlier was just...bait, if you will." Santana curses herself inwardly. She knew it had been too easy. She _knew_ it. "Bait to get _Brittany_ out of the house so I could take over."

"Why Brittany?" she asks, battling nausea.

"She's the only one of you that isn't protected against us," replies the demon simply, and Santana almost vomits right there on the spot. How had it not occurred to her to give Brittany an amulet to ward off possession? "And therein ends our game of twenty questions." Sugar screams as the door slams closed while she's still much to far away to make it out. _Fuck_. "And I've had quite enough of that snivelling child."

"No!" Santana says, taking another step to the side so her body fully covers Sugar's. With a laugh, the demon gestures her hand to one side and Santana is thrown against a wall. Hard. The wind is knocked out of her but still she struggles against the demons invisible hold. "Stop," she wheezes. She barely even feels the tools from the wall digging harshly into her back as her terror mounts.

Sugar visibly trembles with fear as the demon moves to the other side of the room to pick up Santana's gun. "So, kiddo," says Brittany cheerfully. "How would you like to die?"

"Please don't," Sugar weeps. She takes a step backwards and almost trips; it's only the demon's quick reflexes that keep her from hitting the ground. The tearful, pleading look Sugar gives Santana then just about breaks Santana's heart. _Why aren't you saving me_, it says.

"No?" the demon questions, her hands gripping tightly to the front of Sugar's shirt. "How about with your momma's own gun?" If the situation had been less dire Santana would have rolled her eyes at that. _I'm not her babysitter and I am not her mother!_ Sugar's crying intensifies and the demon seems to look at something just above her shoulder with vague amusement. "I get the feeling there'd be little point in killing you now anyway." The demon brings back the hand that holds Santana's gun and then slams it down on Sugar's temple, knocking the girl out cold. She slumps to the floor and the demon laughs when Santana cries out in anger and frustration.

"You may as well stop struggling," says the demon when she's done basking in her victory over Sugar. "There's no escape this time, Santana." She brings a finger up and taps it rapidly to her temple. "Even Brittany knows it." Santana's relief is temporary. "That's right. She's still alive. I can feel her scratching away in here. She's putting up quite the fight, I must admit."

"You let her go right now," Santana demands. She tries to kick her feet backwards against the wall but the demon is holding her motionless. It's becoming harder and harder to take in air under the crushing pressure on her body.

"Or what?" The demon sounds amused, like she genuinely wants to know what Santana's answer will be. "I think we're past the point of making ultimatums, dear." Santana has nothing to say to that so she continues her invisible struggle to free herself. "You know what's going to make killing you so much fun?" the demon says.

"You have a competition with the other demons to see who can bring home the hottest corpse?" Santana hazards a guess through gritted teeth.

"No. It's that your precious little Brittany is going to feel it when I choke the last breath from your body," the demon says with a malicious smile on Brittany's face. "She has so much _misguided_ faith in you. It's disgusting."

Santana swallows back another cry of despair. _Think_. She has no holy water. Her weapons are well out of reach. Under no circumstance is she going to remember that exorcism off the top of her head. She can't _think_. So Santana does the only thing she can do.

"Brittany," she breathes. "I know you're in there. You need to fight this!" The demon laughs, although it's more of a cackle. "Brittany! You're stronger than her."

"Nice try," says the demon in a pitying voice.

Santana knows it's a long shot. She's only ever heard of someone reclaiming their body once before and that had been a rumour. A rumour that had got the man telling it laughingly kicked out of the Roadhouse for spreading tall tales and false hope. But if anyone can do this then Brittany can. Her soul is too good; too pure.

"Brittany. You can't let her do this to me." She's aware of how pathetic she sounds now. She's practically begging for her life. Her father would be so ashamed of her. "I know I said _I'd_ protect _you_ but...please. There's so much I haven't said to you yet. I think I..._please_."

For a moment, just a tiny moment, something flickers behind Brittany's eyes. Uncertainty. Or maybe it's fear. Hope blooms in Santana's chest, but before she can utter another word the demon pulls back Brittany's arm and punches her hard across the face. If she hadn't been pinned to the wall it would have been enough to send her sprawling to the ground and for a few moments Santana can't think of anything but the pain and the taste of blood in her mouth.

"I have to say I was expecting more from you," the demon says, but she sounds angry. If Santana was in her right mind now she'd be _so_ proud of Brittany for regaining control even if it was just for a second. Instead, she coughs and spits blood onto the floor. "You're pathetic," continues the demon. "Don't tell me you've run out of bold threats already?" Santana stays silent and the demon sighs theatrically. "All right. Any last words?"

This isn't the first time Santana has been asked this question. She's been in a lot of tight places before with cocky individuals who judge her far too readily on her appearance, but never before has she honestly believed that whatever comes out of her mouth will actually be her last words. The terror coursing through her veins is something she hadn't expected; her own life isn't something she's ever truly valued. Not until she'd met Brittany. She tries not to dwell on the implications of this for a moment, but then with startling clarification realises that this will probably be her last chance to do just that. She wishes she had more time. She wishes she could save Brittany from this like she'd promised herself she would. She wishes...well, she wishes a lot of things. She'd learnt at a young age that wishing won't help her. There are no fairy godmothers in this world. So instead of wishing, she nods her head as best she can and looks straight into the demon's–no, _Brittany's_–eyes.

"I am so sorry, Brittany." Her heart thunders in her chest and she swears she can feel tears on her cheeks. "And if this is my last chance to say it, I just want you to know...I think I'm falling in love with you."

There's an odd sort of relief when the words come out of her mouth. She hopes Brittany is still aware enough to have heard it but Santana has never been the optimistic kind. She closes her eyes and tries to relax as she waits for the final blow.

It doesn't come.

In fact, if she didn't know any better she'd think the pressure on her body seemed to be lessening. She sucks in a long breath and forces her eyes open.

Brittany stares back at her, mouth slightly open and desperation written all across her face. She gasps loudly when their eyes meet and takes a jerky step backwards. "Santana," she says breathlessly.

Gaping, Santana's whole body floods with astonishment. "Brittany?" Brittany takes another stumbling step away from her. "Britt-Britt?"

Brittany whimpers and cradles her head in her hands. "No no no no no no," she mumbles. The tearful little cries pierce Santana's soul but no matter how hard she fights it, she still can't free herself from the wall. "It hurts!"

"You can do this, Brittany. I know you can." She tries to keep her tone even but she knows she just sounds shocked. "Tell me who you are, Britt. I need you to remember."

"I'm..." Brittany trails off with a little sob. "I'm Brittany S Pierce." Santana nods encouragingly. "I..." She seems to curl into herself and lets out an anguished cry.

"You can do this, Brittany!"

"I can't," Brittany moans, clutching fistfuls of her own hair and pulling.

"You can," replies Santana. "Tell me about your cat, Brittany. What was his name?"

Tears stream down Brittany's face. "Um...Lord Tubbington. He...used to steal my dad's cigars and sell them to the kids outside school." Santana almost laughs because _of course he did_. She'd expect no less. Her amusement fades within seconds.

_Bang. _

Brittany's head snaps up sharply at the loud noise. Except it's not Brittany anymore. The demon is back and Santana has a feeling that this time it's for good. Defeat washes over her and she bites back a sob. If she's going to die then she's not going to embarrass herself by breaking down. Then–

_Crash. _

The wooden door splinters open and there stands Puck and Finn with guns pointed at the demon. Santana doesn't think she's ever been happier to see those blundering morons in her life.

"Hello, boys," says the demon with a charming smile. "Something I can help you with?"

"Yeah, you can get out of our friend's body!" Finn says. He doesn't sound quite as threatening as Santana would like but it'll do. The demon laughs.

"Or what?"

Rather than answer, Puck fires his weapon and the rock salt sends the demon staggering backwards.

"No!" Santana yells instinctively. "Don't you hurt her."

"Really?" Puck says, annoyed as he edges around Sugar's unconscious form. "You wanna talk about this now? I don't think this is gonna be resolved with a peaceful negotiation!"

The demon recovers quickly and hisses at the men. Puck whispers something in Finn's ear and they separate, firing again as they move. Rock salt narrowly misses Santana's head and she glares at Finn. "Will you watch what you're doing!" She knows she's being overly harsh considering they're here to rescue her, but she also knows what her face must look like now and the humiliation of being put in this position at all is eating away at her. She hates the idea of being vulnerable in front of people.

"You know what, Santana, next time you can rescue yourself!"

It's then that Santana notices that they both have pieces of paper in their hands. She doesn't think the demon has realised yet because she's too busy ducking and weaving away from the flying rock salt. It's almost like Puck and Finn have a plan, although she finds that concept difficult to believe.

_Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus  
omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio_

Finn is the one to start the exorcism. The demon whirls around and waves her hand, sending him flying into the wall and crashing through the table below him. Before she can advance on him any further, Puck clears his throat and she spins around.

_Infernalis adversarii, omnis legio,  
omnis congregatio et secta diabolica._

The demon shrieks in frustration and Santana feels the hold on her lessen as she slides down the wall, pulling a few tools down with her as she goes. The weight on her lungs lifts and for the first time since she realised Brittany had been possessed she can breathe again.

Scrambling to his feet, Finn carries on reading just as the demon seems to come to it's senses again.

They're either side of Brittany now, both clutching at their scraps of paper and struggling through the unfamiliar words. The demon looks frantically between them, unable to decide which one of them to murder first. She lunges for Puck but is jerked back towards Finn as if by invisible strings. It makes Santana feel sick to see Brittany's body wrenched around so brutally.

The demon screams and throws herself at Finn, falling far short of the mark and crashing to her knees. She keeps screaming as Puck finally reaches the end of the exorcism and black smoke starts to gush from Brittany's mouth and ears. The sound tears at Santana's soul but she knows to stay back until it's over. Those screams are probably going to haunt her nightmares for the rest of her life. Then after what feels like an age, silence falls and Brittany slumps to the ground, boneless.

Santana scrambles across the grubby floor towards her and puts a tentative hand on the woman's back. "Britt?" she breathes. "Brittany?"

"I'm okay," Brittany moans, unmoving. "Owww. It feels like there's a gaggle of rainbow elephants dancing in my head. Are you okay?"

With a tearful laugh Santana nods her head. "I'm fine." She's not. The last ten minutes have easily just made it into the Top Five Most Harrowing Experiences of her whole life and her mouth still tastes like blood but right now the most important thing is making sure Brittany is all right.

"I'm so sorry," says Brittany in a small voice. Her shoulders shake and Santana is sure she's crying so she wraps her hands around her girlfriend's shoulders and helps her to sit up. "I tried to fight her but she was _so_ strong..."

"None of this was your fault," Santana replies quietly. "It was mine for not protecting you." Brittany sniffs and shuffles forward until she's curled up in Santana's trembling arms.

On the other side of the room, Finn accidentally kicks some kind of hammer with a loud clang. Santana resists the urge to shoot him a dirty look, but only because he's just saved her life. She'll store up a list of his misdeeds to punish for tomorrow when she's feeling less emotional. Her gaze drifts over to where Puck is giving Sugar a look over; she's still unconscious but Puck gives Santana a thumbs up to let her know that she's fine.

"Come on, man," she hears him say quietly to Finn as he scoops up Sugar in his arms. He gestures to the door and then follows Finn outside, but not before offering Santana a sympathetic smile. Santana has never been more grateful to them. Maybe she'll refrain from calling them offensive nicknames for the rest of the week as a reward. _Maybe_.

Now that they're alone, Santana starts to rock Brittany back and forth and whispers what she hopes are comforting words in her ear. Thankfully, Brittany starts to relax a little and her tears begin to slow. Santana doesn't think she's ever felt this guilty. How could she have let this happen? What kind of person doesn't realise that their girlfriend has been possessed by a demon? She was so damn smug about exorcising that demon earlier that she just wasn't paying enough attention.

"Did you mean it?" Brittany says after a couple of minutes. Santana hugs her tightly. She's not sure she'll ever be able to pry herself away again.

"Mean what?" she asks.

"Do you really love me?" Brittany asks shyly. Santana freezes, torn between terror and...that thing she feels for Brittany. She swallows against her dry throat. In the past, _loving_ people has never really worked out for her. But after everything that just happened... "It's okay if you don't...I just thought–"

"No!" Santana stumbles over her words. "I mean..." She sighs. "Of course I meant it. You're perfect. Who wouldn't love you?"

Grinning widely, Brittany lifts her head and kisses Santana lightly on her bruising cheek. Her face is shiny with tears and her eyes red, but Santana doesn't think she's ever looked more beautiful. Or maybe it's just all that near death experience adrenaline clouding her vision. "Thank you for saving me," she says, and Santana raises an eyebrow.

"Puck and Finn saved you. I did fuck all," Santana bites out, thoroughly disgusted with herself, but Brittany shakes her head.

"No, if you hadn't said what you did then it would have killed you and Puck and Finn wouldn't have got here in time," says Brittany, and it would sound reasonable if not for the fact that it's Santana's fault this whole thing happened in the first place. She doesn't think she's hated herself this much since her father was killed. At Brittany's hopeful gaze though, she nods with a small smile. She can brood later when Brittany is sleeping. If she ever sleeps again after this terrifying incident. "Is it gone now?" Brittany then asks, her mood sobering considerably.

"Yeah," replies Santana. _But there's hundreds more out there_, she thinks to herself. She strokes her hands gently down Brittany's back and holds her close. "It's back in hell." She feels Brittany shudder.

"It was so horrible, Santana," she says. "It was like I could see everything that was happening but I couldn't control it. And then I thought it was going to kill you but I didn't _want_ to hurt you and I begged her but she wouldn't stop. I just felt so powerless." The fear in her voice hurts Santana's heart. "I don't want to ever go to hell."

"You won't," says Santana, kissing the top of Brittany's head. "Britt, your soul is so good that you fought off a demon with just your mind. You are _not_ going to hell. Even if you did you'd probably turn it into some kind of rainbow wonderland for lost souls."

Brittany chuckles weakly but there are tears slipping down her cheeks again. While Santana searches her brain for something else to say that will cheer Brittany up, the sound of a small scuffle reaches her ears from outside. They both look up just in time to see Sugar stumble through the doorway, batting away Puck's grasping hands as she does. Even from there, Santana can see the way her eyes fill up with water when she looks at them. The blood dripping from her temple is a little disconcerting.

With a loud cry, Sugar rushes over and literally throws herself at them. Or she falls on them. It's hard to tell but Santana suspects she has a mild concussion. The two women share an alarmed look as the girl begins to sob hysterically, clutching desperately at them like they're going to disappear before her eyes. Awkwardly, Santana manoeuvres one of her arms so she can wrap it around Sugar's trembling body and opposite her she sees Brittany do the same. At least maybe now the teenager will let them take her home.

"Hey, come on now," says Santana uncomfortably. "No more tears. We're all fine."

Rather than make things better, her words just seem to make Sugar cry harder as she presses herself forward into both their embraces. It's actually kind of sweet how concerned Sugar is for their welfare, or maybe she's just scared for her life.

"Don't be...cry. It's going to take more than a demon to take us out, sweetie," Santana then tries in a softer voice. Sugar looks up at her instantly and gazes at Santana with an unidentifiable look in her eyes. Then she launches herself forward into Santana's chest, almost knocking the wind out of her and squeezes her tightly. She still manages to keep hold of Brittany's shirt though.

The distressed look on Santana's face seems to amuse Brittany because she laughs quietly. She hopes this doesn't mean she's going to have to be nice to Sugar all the time because that idea is unacceptable.

They stay like that for a few more minutes with Brittany's stroking Sugar's hair back and Santana running through all the ways this could have gone differently in her head. When her mind drifts to the possibility that they all could have died, she shivers lightly and rests her chin atop Sugar's head. Oh well, no point in dwelling on what might have been. At least not right now.

Santana is distracted from her bleak musings when her phone starts to vibrate. Clumsily, she repositions the arm around Sugar to take it from her pocket and flips it open. It's a text from Mercedes.

_Oh my goodness I am so sorry! Is everything okay? I just had another vision. Is Brittany all right? I'm sorry!_

You _will_ be sorry, Santana thinks bitterly. Mercedes had essentially sent her and Brittany directly into a trap. Before she can reply her phone vibrates again. This time it's from Kurt.

_Are you alive? Mercedes is freaking out. If you don't answer in the next 10 seconds we're coming up there._

"Who is it?" Brittany asks tiredly.

"Mercedes and Kurt wanting to know if we're dead," she replies, sounding as annoyed as she feels.

Brittany nods and shifts her position a little so she's more comfortable. "Don't be too hard on her. She didn't know."

"Didn't know?" Santana bites out. "She's supposed to be psychic. I trusted her with our lives."

With a sigh, Brittany gives Santana a hard look. "Okay, well how about you be nice to Mercedes and I'll try not to be too mad that you lied to me and went off to fight demons by yourself."

Oh yeah. Santana had almost forgotten about that. She thought she'd got away with it...but then it wasn't Brittany who had reacted to her with such indifference. It was the demon. She gulps and looks away. "Fair enough," she says in a small voice.

"We will be talking about it later though," Brittany tells her. Santana shivers a little at the stern tone of voice. She doesn't think she's heard it before and she doesn't like it at all. So she nods and types out a quick reply to Will and Grace telling them that she and Brittany are fine and not to worry. They fall into silence again.

By the door, Santana can see Puck lurking and looking at his phone. It's probably time to move now because it feels like Sugar is starting to fall asleep on them, but before she can suggest it Brittany speaks again.

"I do too, you know," she says.

"Do what?" replies Santana absently.

"Love you," says Brittany. Santana's breath catches in her throat and she raises her eyes to meet Brittany's. The sincere smile on her girlfriend's face causes warmth to spread through Santana's whole body and she grins back.

"Cool."

* * *

**Author's Note(s): **I decided that with it being the time for festive cheer and joviality I'd end this chapter on a high note. Thank you for reading and I'll see you next year!


	17. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Glee or the world in which this story is based.

**No Rest for the Wicked  
**_Chapter 15_

The journey back to Artie's house is far from enjoyable and it has little to do with the amount of pain she, Brittany and Sugar are in. Much to Santana's irritation, Puck and Finn decide to recount their decision to rush to their aid after they suspected something wasn't quite right with Brittany, embellishing the details to the point that Santana is surprised they haven't included some kind of super power manifestation. Puck manages to use the word 'hero' no fewer than six times and also slips in the suggestion of a threesome as a reward. If Santana wasn't holding up a barely conscious Sugar in one arm and clutching at Brittany with her other hand, she'd probably break his nose. Instead she settles for telling him _exactly_ where he can shove his reward. If he thinks he's ever getting his grubby hands on Brittany then he has another thing coming.

When they arrive outside the building, Santana hesitates. Brittany looks exhausted, Sugar could burst into tears again at any moment and she hasn't seen her own reflection yet but Santana expects she's not looking quite up to her usual fabulous standards either.

"Puck, shut up for a damn minute," she says. Puck's smug smile drops and he gives her an offended look. "We're gonna head straight back to the motel so you'll need to tell everybody what happened." For a second he looks like he might argue with her, but then his gaze falls to Brittany and he nods his head.

"Are you sure you don't want us to come with you?" Finn offers as he runs his finger along the handle of the gun sticking out of his waistband. She holds back a smirk as she remembers that unfortunate occasion the poor boy managed to shoot himself while cleaning a very similar piece. Incompetent idiot. "As a bit of extra security."

"No," replies Santana. It's a nice gesture she supposes, but no. Just _no_. He doesn't seem surprised by her answer and doesn't press the issue further. Thankfully. Her head feels muddled and heavy and she can't stand looking at their faces any longer.

"Thanks for saving us," Brittany mumbles from Santana's side.

"No problem," says Puck, brightening up. "That's what _heroes_ do. Big damn heroes."

"If you like." Santana rolls her eyes. Then before Puck can protest, she turns her back on him and steers Brittany and Sugar towards her car.

* * *

It takes longer than expected before the three can settle down and relax. Well, as relaxed as a group of people who were just assaulted by demon can be. Santana drives them over to their motel room to pick up their things but then decides it would be better if they stay somewhere else for the night _just in case_. The demons knew exactly where they were sleeping and that doesn't sit well with Santana at all. She doesn't say that though; instead she tells Brittany and Sugar they're moving so she doesn't get charged for defacing the motel room ceiling with a giant Devil's Trap. Brittany shoots her a suspicious look but outwardly accepts her at her word. She's probably too tired to argue.

Another motel in this Godforsaken town isn't as easy to come by as Santana would like and when she finally finds one she has to drag the woman running it out of her bed to open a room for them. The miserable old bitch charges them at least double what would be considered a reasonable amount and claims it's extra charges from the emotional distress of being awoken during a particularly vivid sex dream about Benjamin Franklin...and there's a mental image Santana's never getting out of her head.

"Here's your key," says the woman, thrusting the offending item into Santana's hand and turning around to stalk away, taking her unevenly spread hair rollers and grubby pink nightdress with her. It's a sad testament to Sugar's mental state right now that she doesn't even comment on the woman's disastrous attire.

Santana shakes her head and pushes open the door to their new room. It's virtually identical to the last one they were in except the colour of choice seems to be a slightly different shade of green. "Home sweet home," she says to her travelling companions, earning herself two unimpressed looks. Chastised, Santana's gaze drops to the floor.

Sugar brushes past her first and flops down on the nearest bed with a groan. She'd fallen asleep on the drive over here and still hasn't managed to rouse herself enough to communicate in anything other than indecipherable grumbles. It's vaguely amusing to Santana because she has exactly the same reaction when she's tired.

"Don't fall asleep yet," Santana instructs as Brittany flips on the light and closes the door behind them. "I need to clean your cut." Sugar grumbles again and forces herself into a sitting position. "You'll thank me in the morning when it isn't oozing green slime," Santana tells her, ignoring the offended look the teenager is giving her. She can't look Sugar in the eye right now without feeling bogged down by guilt.

It takes a few minutes but Santana retrieves her 'medical kit' from the trunk of her car (as well as two anti-possession amulets to give to her companions because no way in hell is she making that mistake twice) and sits Sugar down in the cold bathroom where the light is brighter. To neither Santana or Brittany's surprise, Sugar does not turn out to be the best patient, shifting and complaining while Santana does her best to disinfect her wound. Thankfully the cut is shallow so she won't need any stitches...in Santana's _professional_ opinion. Her dad was once upon a time a doctor so that qualifies her to make these kind of assessments.

"All fixed," Santana says after a few minutes. It's not all fixed. There's an injured sixteen year old in her motel room and they're all being hunted by actual demons. Demons from hell. Hell demons with magical powers and a lust for destruction. But hey ho never mind because Sugar's head is a bit cleaner now. Everything is positively dandy.

"Great," Sugar says. Or at least that's what Santana thinks she says. It's really just a noise.

Then with strength Santana is surprised Brittany still possesses after their long day, Brittany gets up from the floor (where she's been holding Sugar's hand), picks the girl up in her arms and carries her back into the bedroom with Santana trailing behind her. Between them they take off her shoes, because Sugar doesn't actually seem capable of any movement herself right now, and put her into one of the beds. She's asleep before her head even hits the pillow.

"I can't believe I hurt her," Brittany whispers, heartbroken. Santana says nothing, because really what can she say? She's told Brittany it isn't her fault and she wasn't in control of her actions, but there's only so much words can do. "I didn't want to. I swear."

"I know you didn't," says Santana. She presses her hand to her mouth to stifle a yawn. "She's already forgiven you."

Brittany nods at this but it doesn't really seem like she's listening. Santana doesn't blame her; she wouldn't want to listen to herself right now either. Instead of prolonging the conversation, they both quietly get ready for bed. Santana heads into the bathroom to brush her teeth and by the time she comes out Brittany is wearing a pair of pyjamas bottoms and tank top decorated with cartoon kittens. She doesn't want to smile, she doesn't really deserve to smile, but she does it anyway.

While Brittany gets into bed, Santana sheds her outer layers and tosses them carelessly on the floor before bending over to retrieve something more comfortable from her bag, but before she can find anything a loud gasp sounds from across the room. In less than a second Santana is up with a handgun pointed at the door. Seeing nothing she scans the room quickly, her weapon following her gaze. "What is it, Britt?" she questions urgently.

"No...you can," Brittany starts, and Santana can hear tears in her voice. "There's nothing here." Santana's gaze shifts to her girlfriend and she lowers her gun. "It's you."

Santana's scrunches her brows together. "It's me?"

"Your back," Brittany says so quietly that Santana almost doesn't hear. "It's all bruised..."

"Oh." Santana shrugs her shoulders and returns her gun to it's rightful place. She then very quickly continues changing her clothes, choosing a baggy t-shirt and clean underwear for sleepwear. "I'm fine, Brittany," she says as she dresses. "It's just a few bruises. I've been in _much_ worse condition than this before. Honestly, I'm just glad I didn't lose a tooth when she punched me." Bizarrely, these words don't seem to lessen Brittany's distress. "I mean seriously, have you seen how perfect my teeth are? It would be a tragic loss to society if something damaged them." Nope. Still not amused. All right.

Feeling her unhappiness deepen, Santana makes her way over to the bed Brittany is lying in and slides under the covers next to her. She reaches over to switch off the lamp but Brittany grabs her arm. "Wait," she says. "Don't turn it off yet. I want to look at them first."

"Brittany," Santana says with exasperation, "I told you I'm fine. All it will do is make you feel bad about something that was completely out of your control. Nothing is broken; it's just a bit of bruising. They'll be gone in a few days." It's probably true. Santana is a fast healer.

"Please," Brittany begs. "I just need to know you're okay." Santana makes the mistake of looking into her wide, glassy eyes and knows she can't say no to her. She huffs and rolls over onto her stomach, lifting her arms and crossing her hands over the top of her head. Beneath her the sheets feel itchy and worn. "Thank you."

It takes Brittany a few seconds to brace herself before she slowly pushes Santana's t-shirt up to her shoulder blades. Santana shivers as cold air hits her skin and then again when the softest fingers in the world come to rest on her spine. She's really not sure what's so interesting about a few bruises but Brittany stares at them for a long time before she moves her fingers, presumably to map their locations.

"Do they hurt?" Brittany asks.

"They're agonising," says Santana dramatically. "You might be able to make them feel better with a few kisses though?" she suggests. In response, Brittany pauses before jabbing a finger into a particularly painful mark. Santana yelps and turns her head to glare.

"Shhh," she hushes. "You'll wake up Sugar."

Santana huffs. She was only trying to lighten the mood. "That was uncalled for."

"It wasn't. You're making fun of me for being sad that I hurt you. Stop it, Santana," Brittany snaps in reply. Santana's heart sinks.

"I'm sorry," she says, dropping her forehead to the thin pillow in front of her. Her usual method of coping with bad stuff is to brush it off with a joke and then pretend it never happened. She wishes Brittany were a bit less opposed to it.

Palms press into her skin for a few seconds before Brittany starts to make gentle circles with her hands. It's strangely soothing and Santana feels her eyes start to droop.

"I'm still mad at you," Brittany says after a while. Much to Santana's displeasure, she stops rubbing her back and pulls her t-shirt back down.

Santana sighs. "I know," she says, rolling onto her side so she's facing the woman next to her. The small amount of light coming from behind her casts eerie shadows across Brittany's face.

Brittany's expression is hard to read and Santana can feel a distance between them. "You can't do that to me again. What if you'd been really hurt and I wasn't there to protect you?"

The room feels suddenly oppressive and much too warm.

Swallowing against an uncomfortable feeling in her throat, Santana awkwardly half shrugs her shoulders as best she can while she's lying on one of them. "I wanted to keep you safe." Her voice isn't as strong as she wants it to be. "I just wanted to get in and get out."

"None of this might have happened if you'd just taken me with you in the first place," Brittany points out like Santana doesn't already know. Like she hasn't replayed every single second of the day through her mind over and over again trying to work out what she could have done differently.

Santana tries to mask a flinch by clasping her hands tightly in front of her chest. "I don't really know what you want me to say," she says wearily. And it's the honest to God truth. As far as she's concerned, nothing she can say will make this any better so why even try?

"An apology might be a start," says Brittany. Anger flares in Santana's chest. Why should she apologise for wanting to keep the woman she almost kind of sort of loves (probably) safe? The feeling fades quickly though and is replaced with general exhaustion. She just doesn't have the energy to argue.

"Sorry," she says. The corner of Brittany's mouth twitches downwards but otherwise her face stays impassive. Maybe she's too tired for anger too.

"Do you even know what you're sorry for?" Brittany whispers.

"For lying to you," Santana hazards a guess.

"Yes," Brittany agrees. "And?"

"And..." she trails off. And what? When no response is forthcoming, Brittany huffs quietly and rolls onto her back so Santana can no longer make out her facial expression. Damn it.

There are so many reasons Brittany should be mad at her but as far as Santana is concerned none of them were related to exorcising the demon earlier in the night. She should have protected them from possession as soon as she knew they'd be investigating demons. She should have made sure Sugar had been taken home to her family where she could be kept safe and away from this horrible mess. She should have memorised that fucking exorcism or _something_ so Brittany didn't have to suffer having pure evil take root in her head. Santana can't even imagine what having that kind of influence in her mind has done to her girlfriend. It's only been a couple of hours and she can already see the effect it's had. Maybe it won't be permanent but Santana can see a darkness lurking inside her that wasn't there before. There are some things that change a person for good and being held hostage in your own mind and forced to hurt the people you care about is one of those things. Santana rubs her eyes with the palms of her hands. She would give anything to change the last few hours.

She deserves not to be forgiven.

If Santana were a stronger person, she'd ask Brittany to leave. _Again_. But this time she'd make sure it stuck. She'd ask her to go back to her little town where she can be safe and find someone to love her who has more to offer than a life full of death and misery. But now she doesn't think she can. She doesn't think she can carry on without Brittany by her side. Santana is a coward and she hates herself for it.

"Stop it," says Brittany.

Santana blinks her eyes back into focus. She hadn't realised Brittany had turned her head to look at her again. "Stop what?" she asks cautiously, still keeping her voice low so as not to wake Sugar.

"Stop it with the face," Brittany clarifies. She sounds annoyed. "It's so hard to be mad at you when you have that...face on." Santana still doesn't understand and Brittany sighs. "I'm mad at you because you still don't trust me, Santana. Haven't I proved myself yet?"

"I trust you," Santana protests instantly. "I trust you more than anybody."

"Nuh-uh." Brittany shakes her head. "If you trusted me then you would have told me where you were going. But you _lied_ to me and then you left me behind. Why didn't you just tell me what was going on? We could have had an adult conversation about it and decided where to go from there instead of you wandering off by yourself. And don't pretend you asked Puck to go with you because I know you didn't. He invited himself."

Santana looks away, choosing to ignore Brittany's accusations. "I don't want to put you in danger."

"We've talked about this before, Santana. I'm a grown-up and you have no right to make decisions for me," Brittany continues and Santana starts to feel something akin to shame.

"We're supposed to be partners, as in equal. You're not my mom and I'm not your child. It's not your job to protect me."

"But it _is_ my job," says Santana, her eyes snapping back to Brittany's. "I dragged you into this chaos and it's my responsibility to keep you safe."

"You didn't drag me anywhere. You did like...the opposite of that. You've pushed me away at every single turn but it's not going to work, Santana. I'm here to stay," Brittany says. Santana wants so desperately to believe her.

"I'm sorry," she says quietly. Her mouth feels dry. "I just...I think about what I'd do if something happened to you and...I don't think I could cope, Brittany. I've lost so many people I loved and I don't think I could stand it if I lost you too."

"You don't think I feel the exact same way?" Brittany asks. There's an edge to her voice like she _needs_ Santana to understand. "I've lost people too. What if that demon had killed you today? I'd have never known what happened because you left me in that stupid house in complete ignorance without even saying goodbye to me. It's my responsibility to keep you safe too."

Santana wants to argue that it isn't her responsibility at all, but the beseeching look Brittany is giving her stops her short. Partners, Brittany had said. It's easier said than done. Santana isn't used to treating people like her equals because...well for the most part they aren't. She rarely has contact with people who know anything about her world and these past years of hunting alone haven't exactly put her in the right frame of mind to jump into some sort of mutually dependent relationship. It's not part of her makeup. But, she supposes that if she wants to keep Brittany around then she'll have to adapt.

Slowly exhaling, Santana meets Brittany's gaze. "Okay. I'm sorry."

"Promise you won't do it again," says Brittany. Her voice is quietly demanding.

"I promise I'll try to do better," replies Santana.

Brittany raises her arm a little and offers her hand. "Pinky promise?"

An unwilling smile spreads across Santana's face and just like that the heaviness hanging in the air dissipates. Their pinkies link and Santana squeezes gently. "Pinky promise," she repeats with a chuckle.

"Awesome," says Brittany. Santana hadn't realised how much tension Brittany was carrying until she relaxes with a relieved sigh. Her whole body seems to shrink into the mattress. Unable to help herself, Santana leans forward and kisses Brittany on the lips.

"So you wanna go to sleep now?" Santana asks. She puts her hand over her mouth and stifles a yawn. "It's been a long day."

"I guess so," says Brittany, averting her eyes to stare at the wall. Santana raises an eyebrow.

"Your words say yes but your tone says no," she says slowly. Brittany bites down on her bottom lip and Santana's heart melts over how adorable it makes her look. She's not sure when she became such a fucking sap but it's getting harder and harder to resist it. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Brittany denies a little too quickly. She's a terrible liar.

"So this whole pinky promise about having conversations, and I quote, 'like adults' only applied to _my_ secrets then?" says Santana with amusement. Brittany looks at her guiltily and clutches the sheets covering them closer to her chest. "Do you want me to put salt across the door, just in case?"

"No," Brittany mumbles. If they weren't so close Santana wouldn't have heard her.

"Then what is it, Britt-Britt?"

In favour of responding, Brittany's eyes dart around the room like she's looking for some kind of escape. Her hand comes up to fiddle with the anti-possession amulet around her neck and Santana suspects she doesn't even realise she's doing it. All of a sudden, it hits Santana exactly why Brittany is reluctant to sleep. She curses herself for being so insensitive and not realising sooner.

"You're thinking about earlier," Santana says. Brittany's lack of response tells her what she needs to know. She's _scared_. After being possessed by a demon, anybody would be. Really, Santana is surprised this hasn't happened sooner. Brittany has shown herself surprisingly resilient to the introduction of all the nightmares in the world up until now.

Santana leans forward and kisses Brittany again, running her hand up and down her girlfriend's arm comfortingly. She smiles and then rolls out of bed, ignoring the way Brittany reaches out to stop her.

"I'm not going anywhere," Santana promises her, as she walks over to the duffel bag on the floor at the other side of the room. It takes her a few seconds to find what she's looking for but after rifling around in the dark she pulls out a fairly large container of rock salt. She usually uses this to fill up her guns but it should be enough to block the door and one window in the room.

"Santana," says Brittany, embarrassed, "I said you didn't have to do that." Now that Santana's head isn't blocking the lamp, she can see Brittany's face better and there's a red tint to her cheeks.

"I should have done it when we first got here," Santana tells her with a nod. "Don't worry about it. We gotsta keep our moody little sidekick safe anyway." She jerks her thumb in the direction of the sleeping teenager who...isn't actually sleeping. Sugar slams her eyes shut when she sees Santana glance her way. Santana rolls her eyes. _Very_ subtle. She wonders how much the girl heard.

It only takes her a minute to make a thin line of salt across the door and window but it'll be enough to keep any unwanted supernatural beasties out of the room for tonight. Santana isn't exactly expecting another assault but if it gives Brittany peace of mind then she's more than willing to do it. Although she really wishes she hadn't looked so closely at the dirty carpet. She's realised it isn't actually the colour she thought it was, and rather is covered by a layer of dusty grime making it appear a much murkier brown.

"Don't forget the bathroom," Brittany prompts from the bed.

Nodding, Santana pads into the dark bathroom and flinches as her bare feet hit the cold linoleum. It takes the last of her salt to block the window. She'll have to restock tomorrow. Maybe she can steal some from Artie...

"I was in the bathroom when it got me," Brittany says quietly, disrupting her thoughts. Santana frowns and looks over her shoulder at Brittany.

"What?" she says, feeling suddenly uneasy.

"When the demon got me," Brittany clarifies. "I was in Artie's bathroom."

Santana feels like she's just been plunged into a icy lake. "You weren't outside?"

"No? Why would I go outside? It came in through the vent thing...black smoke like you warned me about." Nausea hits Santana like a freight train. "Santana, what's wrong?" Brittany sits up, looking alarmed. "Tell me!"

She swallows against her dry mouth and tries to keep her breathing under control. It's probably nothing...but Artie's house shouldn't have a single gap in its defences. Especially now. In fact, how did the demon even get in and out of the door in Brittany's body?

Unable to respond to Brittany's questioning gaze, Santana retrieves her phone from her duffle and switches it on. She'd turned it off in the car on the way over to the motel because of the incessant phone calls and text messages from their fellow hunters demanding they return and explain exactly 'what the fuck just happened'. Naturally, as soon as it gets signal there's a barrage of texts waiting for her but she ignores them all and scrolls through her contacts until she reaches Artie's name. She dials.

_This service is currently unavailable._

* * *

Santana is in a state and Brittany can't remember the last time she was this confused. Her girlfriend is seriously freaking out over something and Brittany knows it must be really bad because Santana doesn't freak out for no reason. Mostly. There was a few overreactions over the Sugar staying with them thing but that's irrelevant. Then there was the incident in that museum when she danced with Finn...also not relevant. Then there was the time that Quinn...on second thought, Santana actually freaks out about a lot of things. Not like this though.

It had taken less than a few minutes for them both to throw on some clothes and run out the door, but not before Santana gave Sugar a quick but stern talking to about _staying in the motel room and not leaving under any circumstance_. Sugar readily nodded her head with a frightened look on her face. When Brittany had commented on it on their way to the car Santana had responded with a short, "Good. She should be scared."

As Santana starts driving, she throws her phone into Brittany's lap. "Call Quinn, Puck and Trouty Mouth. Tell them that Artie's phone has been disconnected and we need to get there right now."

Brittany's eyes widen and she does as she's told even though fear causes her hands to tremble. Surprisingly, none of them sound pissed off about being woken up but then Brittany supposes they're all used to getting up at weird hours to be at the beck and call of those in distress. She doesn't know why she's thinking about that right now. Maybe because it's better than imagining what's going to happen in the next half an hour.

When they get to Artie's junk yard it's already too late.

Santana slams on the breaks and the car skids to a halt next to Quinn's, which is empty. Brittany scans the area but can't see the other woman.

"Fuck," Santana says under her breath. They get out of the car but make no move to get closer to the building. It's quiet. Far too quiet.

Tears blur Brittany's vision and she blinks. Every single window has been smashed from the inside, littering the ground with shards of broken glass and splinters of wood. Beside her, Santana bends down and picks up a torn piece of paper that has blown by their feet; Brittany recognises it from one of the books she had been reading yesterday. A lump in her throat stops her from commenting on it.

Brittany is an optimist; she always has been...but staring ahead of her, she knows in her gut that Artie and Rory didn't make it out of there alive. The thought makes her gasp for breath. Within seconds Santana is right by her side, gripping her hand tightly in her own like that will somehow make this whole thing less terrible. Or maybe Santana just needs something to hang on to.

"Why," Brittany eventually says breathlessly. Santana doesn't answer. "They weren't even going to fight. They...didn't do anything wrong."

Before Santana can reply, or maybe she wasn't going to reply at all, another car speeds towards them. The screech of the tyres as the car comes to a stop feels almost disrespectful and Brittany frowns.

Finn and Puck are out the vehicle and at their side within seconds. They're both dishevelled and Finn's hair is wet like he's just jumped out the shower but any lingering tiredness around their faces disappears and is replaced with horror.

"Well fuck me," says Puck, running a hand over his mohawk. Santana opens her mouth like she's going to make a disparaging comment but at the last second thinks better of it. "Where's Quinn?"

They all look around but don't see her. It's hard to see any further than twenty feet in front of them while it's still dark. Brittany briefly wonders if they should invest in some night vision goggles.

"Artie's books," says Finn, confused. There is paper strewn everywhere; scattered haphazardly by the unforgiving winds. "He wouldn't have let them do this if..." he trails off but they all know what he was going to say.

Santana sucks in a deep breath. "Do you want to take the house or the perimeter?" she asks, looking at Puck. She's wearing her game face.

"You don't want to wait for Sam?" he replies.

"Quinn might need help," Santana says, begrudgingly nodding her head towards her car. Puck nods.

"House then," he says grimly. Brittany is relieved because if Artie and Rory are... She really doesn't want to see it.

Puck and Finn set off without another word while Santana leads Brittany back to the car so they can arm themselves. She pulls out a couple of shotguns from the truck and hands one over. It feels heavy and cumbersome in her hands. Brittany has never been a fan of guns. She doesn't believe in them. When Santana had first started teaching her she'd initially refused to even touch one of the many firearms offered to her, but Santana had eventually talked her around, insisting that shooting at ghosts and other supernaturally things isn't the same as shooting a person. It doesn't feel that way though.

"Be on guard," Santana warns her in a low voice. "Watch your back." Brittany swallows and tries to hide the way her hands shake. How can Santana be so calm right now? "The demons could still be here."

Brittany nods and keeps her eyes peeled as they begin to slowly circle the house.

It's pretty much the worst place to play hide and seek ever, Brittany thinks as she eyes the piles of cars and scrap metal. They can barely see as it is but somebody could be hiding literally anywhere. Brittany feels horribly exposed out there in the open even though she can feel Santana watching out for her out the corner of her eye.

A strong gust of wind blows through the maze of junk, causing metal to rattle and scrape. Santana spins around and points her gun in a vague direction of the sound and Brittany blindly copies her, not knowing what else to do. All that training Santana gave her is beginning to feel woefully inadequate.

Once Santana has determined it was just the wind, she keeps walking forward until they're almost at the back of the building.

Fear can do funny things to you, Brittany muses as she follows Santana through the dark. She's never ever been so uncomfortably aware of all her limbs before as she tries her best to keep quiet. She's never really noticed how loudly she breathes before either. Or maybe she doesn't breathe loudly and it's just because it's cold and she's frightened? Either way, it's taking a lot of energy she doesn't feel like she has to keep up with all this sneaking. She's too emotionally exhausted. Santana though...Santana is in the zone. Her gun automatically turns to even the slightest sound and just by looking at her Brittany can tell she's running on pure instinct. She is the epitome of the word hunter. If there's a hint of bloodlust in Santana's eyes as she stalks for her prey, Brittany chooses to ignore it.

She's beginning to feel, not for the first time today, like she's in way over her head. Just like the demon told her when it grasped at Brittany's mind with cold fingers, whispering cruel words and preying on every weak thought she's ever had. She shudders.

Without warning, Santana stops dead in her tracks and Brittany almost walks straight into her.

"What–" But Santana silences her with a hand gesture. Fear prickles down the back of Brittany's neck but she nods slowly, not even daring to breathe. Santana offers her a tiny smile as though sensing her discomfort but it's gone as quickly as it came.

Santana points briefly behind them and makes some complicated signal with her hand that Brittany can't even begin to comprehend. They didn't cover secret languages in training but Santana seems to assume she knows what the hell that hand thing meant and turns back to walk the way they came. Brittany licks her lips, made dry in the cold night air, and follows behind. _She must have heard something_.

Rather than keeping close to the house walls like they did on the way up, Santana strays towards the labyrinth of broken vehicles. Reluctantly, Brittany keeps up and peers cautiously into as many cars as she can as they pass. This would be so much easier if the sun would rise. It feels like it's been dark _forever_.

Santana stops again and tilts her head to one side like she's listening really intently but Brittany can't hear anything except the occasional rush of wind.

A sharp _clang_ sounds somewhere to their left and Brittany almost drops her weapon in fright. Santana doesn't seem to notice and is already edging carefully towards the noise, sticking as close to the shadows as possible. Brittany mimics her movements as best she can until Santana holds her hand up again and stops before turning another corner past a particularly high stack of cars. They're quite far away from the house now; it makes Brittany extra nervous. Was it really the best idea to go hunting down super baddies without backup?

Santana looks at her with hard eyes and points to the two of them and then gestures around the corner. Brittany nods, fairly sure she's got the gist of what Santana means this time. Her girlfriend then holds up three fingers before slowly bringing them down again one by one.

_Three...two...one..._

Together they launch themselves around the corner, guns trained forward.

But there's nothing there.

Santana pulls a face and pushes an errant strand of hair behind her ear. "I could have swore–" she mumbles, trailing off and taking a few steps forward to survey the area. Brittany stays rooted to the spot.

"Watch out!"

A piercing cry fills the air and before Brittany can locate it something very heavy crashes into her and throws her to the ground. The next few seconds are a complete blur. There's quite a lot of shouting and whoever it was who barrelled into her is flung about ten feet in the air and lands somewhere out of sight. She blinks and her vision clears enough to see Santana firing her gun once...twice...before she too is thrown to the side like a rag doll. Brittany groans at the pain developing in her head and feels around the floor for her gun but a dark chuckle stops her.

She looks up and sees a dude with dreadlocks peering down at her with a smirk. There's a wooden cross hanging around his neck on a piece of string; is that irony? When he blinks, his eyes turn inky black. It's the first time Brittany has seen this happen and for just a second her whole body freezes with fear.

Another shot fires and the demon staggers backwards. Santana is on her feet again.

"The exorcism, Brittany!" she demands, firing again. Brittany flinches at the sound but scrambles to her knees so she can get to her pockets to find the piece of paper.

Santana keeps shooting until she's out of bullets and switches to one of the bottles of holy water she has tucked away in her jacket pocket but it's not enough to stop Dreadlocks from advancing on her.

"Any time now, Britt," Santana grunts as she throws herself to the side to avoid a jagged piece of metal being hurled towards her.

Panicking, Brittany's fingers finally locate what she's looking for in her jeans pocket and she shakily unfolds it.

She begins to read but before she can get very far another figure bursts onto the scene.

It's Quinn. And she's carrying something.

Even from fifteen feet away Brittany can see Quinn is out of breath but she sprints towards the demon with something silver and sharp in her hand. Still being assaulted by Santana's holy water, the demon doesn't turn around fast enough to stop Quinn from wrapping one arm around his neck and plunging a knife deep into his chest.

The demons mouth falls open and his whole body lights up like tiny bolts of lightning are shooting up and down his limbs. Then after what feels like an age but is in reality less than five seconds, he slumps to the ground, dead.

Silence falls and Brittany's eyes are working overtime to look between Santana, Quinn and the fallen demon lying on the floor.

After a moment, Santana takes a threatening step towards Quinn and says in a low voice, "What the hell is that?"

"It's a knife, Santana," Quinn replied. A self-satisfied smirk plays about her mouth but Brittany thinks she can also detect a little guilt.

"Nothing can kill a demon like that," Santana continues slowly, eyeing the weapon in Quinn's hand. "What the fuck is it and where did you get it?"

"Obviously it can. I'll have my 'thank you' any day now," Quinn says, bending down to wipe the bloody knife on the fallen demon's t-shirt. "I just saved both of your lives."

"We had it under control," Santana snaps. "Stop avoiding my questions and tell me what that is and why you decided not to mention it until now!"

It doesn't look like Quinn has any intention of answering Santana, but even if she'd wanted to they're distracted by a groaning sound coming from somewhere behind Brittany. She turns around and her heart drops into her stomach.

Sugar is lying prone on top of a pile of scrap pieces of metal, whimpering quietly to herself. So _that's_ who pushed her out the way.

"Sugar!"

Brittany scrambles to her feet and rushes to the girls side. How did she get here? She dimly hears Santana telling Quinn that 'this isn't over' before she too hurries over to them.

It's still dark, but the growing patch of blood coming from somewhere under Sugar's body is unmistakable.

* * *

**Author's Note(s): **Thanks for sticking with me!


	18. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Glee or the world in which this story is based.

**Author's Note(s): **Hi there! As always, thank you for still reading (even though I'm the slowest updater ever) and reviewing and all that. I hope you enjoy this chapter!

**No Rest for the Wicked  
**_Chapter 16_

Santana watches warily as Brittany paces up and down the hospital waiting room muttering darkly under her breath. It's been like this for two and a half hours and every time Brittany looks like she's about to stop, her pace quickens with renewed vigour and the throbbing behind Santana's eyes intensifies.

_"Sugar! Sugar you have to stay awake." _

_"Mmmm...too sleepy. Five more minutes." _

_"We're gonna get you out of here, okay?" _

_"There's so much blood, Santana."_

_"I'll be fine, mom..." _

_"No! You keep your eyes open and that's an order!" _

"Why hasn't anybody come to tell us anything yet?" Brittany demands, only briefly stopping her metronome like walk around the room.

Mind lagging with exhaustion, it takes Santana a few seconds to reply. The delay seems to irk her girlfriend. "Um...I guess she's still in surgery," she says. "But y'know...no news is good news."

That's what the nurse had told them the third time Brittany had stormed over to the help desk to demand more information on their young friend and Santana hates herself for having nothing better to offer. Brittany huffs in irritation.

_"It's a forty minute drive, Santana!" _

_"Only if I stick to the speed limit." _

_"She's hallucinating and–"_

_"–I swear to God if you don't–"_

_"–She's already lost too much–"_

_"–Shut your fucking fish mouth and help Britt get her in the car!" _

"Excuse me? Mrs Motta?"

Santana blinks and looks up at the nurse hovering in front of her. "What?"

The nurse looks uncomfortable for a moment and glances over to Brittany. "I know this is a very difficult time." She hesitates. "But your wife is making the other patients nervous."

For the first time, Santana looks around the waiting room and actually sees it. Despite the early hour of the morning there are more than a few people scattered haphazardly on the hard, plastic chairs. Over half of them are staring at Brittany with expressions varying from severe discomfort to outright anger.

"Maybe they should just get the fuck over it then," Santana snaps backs. The nurse flinches.

"Perhaps if the hospital provide you with some scrubs to change into?" Santana opens her mouth to tell her to shove her scrubs up her ass. "There are children here and the blood is scaring them."

Santana looks down and her own clothes and then at Brittany's. If she weren't so accustomed to seeing blood and gore on an almost daily basis the sight would have knocked her sick. She licks her lips and stands up. "Fine. But you come and get us the _second_ you hear something."

_"Sugar, wake up. Please. Go faster, Santana!" _

_"But mommm, it really hurts..." _

_"I know it does, sweetie. We're almost there and then everything will be fine." _

_"I'm sorry I didn't listen." _

_"It's okay, honey. We're not mad." _

_"You promise?" _

_"Pinky promise." _

Santana is furious. At herself. At Sugar. But mostly at this nurse who seems to be dragging them through an endless maze of hallways that smell like death and antiseptic towards what she promises is a hot shower and clean clothes. All the way she can feel Brittany digging her nails into Santana's hand and tugging backwards, wanting to return to the waiting room. Or maybe she wants to storm the operating room.

"Mrs Motta," the nurse says, stopping and indicating a door. "This room is for our private patients. It has a shower and everything you might need."

"Thanks," Santana replies gruffly. "Come and get us if anything happens."

"Of course." The nurse's eyes shift to Brittany, who is still muttering under her breath. "Mrs Motta, we have the finest doctors in the–"

"Spare us the platitudes," Santana interrupts. She's not in the mood to be lied to and telling Brittany one more thing that she doesn't want to hear might be what sends her over the edge completely.

The nurse offers her a sharp nod before making a hasty retreat, leaving Brittany and Santana alone.

_"Emergency room. How can I...help?" _

_"In the car." A gasp for breath. _

_"Injury?" _

_"There's a piece of metal in her back and she's lost a lot of blood." _

_A phone call and flurry of activity. "Your name, ma'am?" _

_"Um...Motta." _

_"Relation to the patient?" _

_"...Daughter. My wife is with her out front."_

_"Okay. Take a breath, Mrs Motta. We'll do everything we can." _

"Brittany, please, it'll take five minutes and then we can be back there," Santana begs. "You'll feel better." Before Brittany even whirls around to glare at her Santana knows it was the wrong thing to say.

"I'll feel better. _I'll feel better_?" Santana flinches. "There is a sixteen year old girl lying on a hospital table and bleeding to death because she tried to save me. Changing my shirt will not make me _feel better_!"

The tension that coils through Brittany's whole body threatens to snap and Santana takes a step backwards. She doesn't know what to do. How to help.

"Okay, no. It won't make you feel better. But if you just wash her blood off then–"

A bitter laugh cuts her off. "You want us to wash our hands of her, right? Like you've been wanting to do since day one."

Santana's mouth drops open. "That's not fair."

"Isn't it? You were mean to her from the moment we met," says Brittany. Her foot taps erratically against the floor. "You wanted her gone."

"Because I wanted her away from danger and back with her parents where she belongs! Not because I wanted her dead!"

Beneath red cheeks, Brittany blanches and her eyes fill with tears. "Do you really think she's going to die?" The swift mood change throws Santana and she hesitates for just a little too long. "Oh my God. You do don't you!"

"What? No, that's not what I said," Santana protests, finding herself unable to meet Brittany's angry gaze. It's not what she said, no, but it's what she thinks. "I'm not...I'm not a doctor, Britt. I don't–"

Brittany pushes her hard and she stumbles back into the metal frame of the abnormally large hospital bed behind her.

_"Is she going to be okay?" _

_"Please take a step back, ma'am." _

_"I'm not going anywhere until you tell me she's going to be okay!" _

_"We're going to do the best we can, ma'am. Now please step away from the gurney." _

_"We need to let them work, Britt." _

_"No, I want to go with her!"_

_"I'm sorry, Mrs Motta, but no family in the operating theatre." _

"I am so sorry," Brittany says, horrified. A little dazed, Santana just nods and tries to ignore the flare of pain from what was already substantial bruising on her back. "Santana?"

She looks up and sees tears rolling freely down Brittany's face once more. She looks so utterly lost that it breaks Santana's heart. "It's fine, Brittany. Don't worry about it."

"It's not fine," Brittany whispers. "Tell me she'll be all right."

Santana wants to. She wants so desperately to tell Brittany exactly what she wants to hear just to wipe that look of despair from her face, but she knows if she does and she's wrong, Brittany will never forgive her. Maybe she'll never forgive her anyway.

"Sugar's a fighter," Santana settles on saying. "She talked _me_ into letting her traipse around America with us while letting her spend all my hard-earned credit card scam money on scarves and hats, didn't she?" For this she earns a small, tearful smile from Brittany. "She's stubborn and she's not going down without a fight."

Brittany takes a deep breath and tries to wipe away the wetness from her cheeks with the palms of her hands, but the tears keep coming. Unsure of what else to do, Santana pushes herself from the bed and wraps her arms around the sobbing woman. "Come on, Britt," she whispers soothingly. "Quick shower, change of clothes and we can head straight back to the waiting room. Or we can use the scrubs to pretend we're doctors and try and sneak into her operating room?" A small sniff is the only real response Santana gets but she takes it as a yes anyway and leads Brittany by the hand to the tiny bathroom.

The shower is spacious and equipped for every medical need with a strange pulley system hanging from the ceiling and shiny white handrail along both walls. She uses one to steady herself as she pulls off her shoes and socks and tosses them to the furthest corner. It's only when she's down to her underwear that she realises Brittany has yet to move.

"Brittany?"

But the woman continues to stare blankly at the wall. Santana sighs and ignores the painful way her heart beats in her chest. She supposes it's only fair that it's her turn to take care of Brittany this time around.

The small cupboard next to the door holds all the things the nurse...or whatever she was... had told her it would. She pulls out a few revoltingly threadbare towels and two sets of scrubs and lays them down on the toilet seat. There's a small, mostly empty bottle of shampoo in there too that she retrieves; probably left there by the last person to stay in this room. She doesn't envy whoever it was because she's only been here about ten minutes and her skin is starting to feel itchy.

"Come on, Britt," she then says, moving around to face her girlfriend. Brittany barely reacts as Santana starts to strip her of her clothing, only moving when specifically directed. It's odd and Santana is starting to feel like some kind of perverse puppet master. When they're both naked, she takes Brittany's hand once more and pulls her into the shower, keeping her out of the spray until it's a tolerable temperature.

They stand under the water for a few minutes and Santana has to suppress a yawn. She's so fucking tired she can barely think straight; she's used to working on little sleep so she can't even imagine how exhausted Brittany must be feeling now. Especially after all that crying...which she is still doing.

Santana kisses Brittany's shoulder and then picks up the shampoo bottle so she can wash Brittany's hair. The combination of complete apathy to what's happening around her and the height difference between them doesn't make it and easy task, but she works as quickly as possible and soon they're both clean. Or as clean as they're going to get in this hospital full of disgusting sick people.

Brittany doesn't speak again until they're both dry, redressed and are making their way back to the waiting room.

* * *

"What did you find out?"

"_Hello to you too, Santana_," says Sam at the other end of the phone, like it's somehow acceptable for him to be commenting on her manners in the middle of this crisis. In the background Santana can hear a dull chatter between Puck and Finn. "_So far, nothing._ _How's the kid?" _

Santana sighs and lightly traces circles with her finger on Brittany's thigh. "Don't know-" She stops to glare at a passing doctor. "-because nobody will tell us a damn thing. Still in surgery."

"_At least you got her there in time_," Sam says quietly.

No thanks to you, Santana almost says, but she bites her tongue. "Have you burn-" She stops talking abruptly, realising that there are even more people milling around them in the waiting room now it's later in the morning. Thankfully, Sam seems to know what she was going to ask.

"_Not yet_," he says, subdued. "_Found Artie's body in the library. I think they...interrogated him_." Bile rises in Santana's throat. She's grateful Brittany can only hear her side of the conversation. "_Rory was in his bedroom. Doubt he even knew what hit him_." Small mercies.

"Everything destroyed?" Santana asks, keeping her voice low.

"_Most of it. There's a few of Artie's books still intact. Quinn has taken them to give to Kurt; he'll probably get better use out of them than the rest of us_." Santana makes a noise of agreement and tries not to think about the fact that she's discussing what to do with her dead friend's stuff. "_We're thinking of just burning the whole house down_."

Santana frowns. "Won't that just get the police up there snooping around? I don't know about you but I'm on more than enough wanted lists."

"_So will Artie and Rory just disappearing from the face of the Earth. People will flip their shit if the police find a load of occult stuff in the house of two missing guys. This way we can just stage it like an accident and get rid of the evidence_," Sam says. Santana sighs; she's not sure she agrees with him but a hospital waiting room is not the place to have this conversation and nor is in front of Brittany when her emotional state is already so fragile. Santana doesn't think she can cope with another bout of crying now that her girlfriend has finally calmed down enough to sit next to her instead of climbing the walls.

"All right then. If it's what everyone has agreed on," she says begrudgingly. At her tone, Brittany looks at her with red-rimmed eyes and Santana forces a tired smile.

"_Do you want us to wait until you get back_?" Sam asks.

Yes. She does want them to wait. Artie was her sort of friend (as close to a friend as Santana gets anyway) and Rory...well, he was more of an annoyance than anything...but he tried his best and he wasn't a bad guy. She wants to pay her respects before they give the two a proper hunters send-off. Her heart clenches but she once again pushes the feelings away into the deep recesses of her mind to process later. She can grieve when this is all over.

"No." She closes her eyes, hating herself. "We don't know how long this is going to take and I...we can't leave her here alone."

There's a pause. "_Okay_." She can hear a note of judgement and grits her teeth.

"You should get the hell out of there soon anyway. The demons..." She trails off, remembering she's in a public place. "They could come back. Apparently that's a thing they do now."

"_Yeah_," Sam agrees. "_Where do you think we should go next_?"

Santana huffs irritably. "I don't fucking know, Sam." She's too tired for this shit. "I'm sure Fabray has some fantastic ideas and opinions she's just dying to share with you. Just figure it out and then call me back." She hangs up.

"What did he say?" Brittany asks as Santana returns her phone to her jacket pocket.

"Nothing worth repeating," she replies. She knows Brittany well enough to know that the woman will be devastated by the idea of them burning down Artie's home so it's best to keep that bit of knowledge to herself.

Brittany continues to look at her before letting out a slow breath and leaning into Santana's side and resting her head on her shoulder. Instinctively, Santana wraps an arm around her. The desire to tell Brittany that everything will be okay is almost overwhelming, but she stays silent.

They're still in this position fifteen minutes later when a woman in pale green scrubs and a stethoscope around her neck appears before them in the waiting room. Brittany is up on her feet faster than Santana thought humanly possible. The doctor holds out a hand to forestall any questions.

"Mrs and Mrs Motta?" she enquires, tilting her head curiously. She has a strangely robotic voice that Santana finds difficult to read.

"That's right," Santana answers quickly before Brittany blows their cover.

The woman nods. "My name is Dr Kapoor. I was the lead surgeon on your daughter's case." Desperately, Santana searches her face for some kind of indication about whether she's here to deliver good or bad news. Brittany's hands find her own and she squeezes them tightly. "Would you like to follow me to a more private room?"

The grip Brittany has on Santana's hands becomes painful but they both nod and follow Dr Kapoor out of the waiting room and down another maze of bland, identical hallways until they reach the door to a small office.

"Take a seat," says the doctor, indicating the two chairs in front of the paper-laden desk. They do as their told and Kapoor offers them a small, artificial smile as she takes the seat opposite them. "She lost a lot of blood, but your daughter is alive and-" She's cut off by a strangled sob escaping Brittany's mouth. "-she's alive and with some physiotherapy, should make a full recovery." Warm relief floods through Santana's body and she leans back in the chair.

"Thank God..." she breathes.

"Can we see her?" Brittany asks through tears.

"When can we take her home?" Santana interrupts before the doctor can answer. They can't linger in this place for too long. Santana has confidence in her fake IDs and her ability to invent some insurance details, but it's only a matter of time before the bureaucrats notice a mistake.

Dr Kapoor gives her an odd look before brushing back some wispy strands of black hair that have fallen free from her tight bun. "Until your daughter-"

"Sugar."

"Sugar," Kapoor agrees with a forced smile in Brittany's direction. "Until Sugar wakes up it's difficult to determine her recovery time. We'll need to keep an eye out for infection and she'll need to keep still for at least a few days so as not to pull her stitches." _A few days_. Santana takes a deep breath. "And I'm afraid it will leave a scar." Sugar is going to hate that. Oh well. Maybe it will serve as a lesson and next time Santana tells her to do something for her own safety then she'll obey. "She also hit her head in the fall but until she wakes up we won't know if she has a concussion, but the fact that she remained conscious for so long after her injuries bodes well."

"Can we see her?" Brittany asks for a second time. Santana has a feeling Brittany won't be satisfied until she's seen for herself that Sugar is alive. "Please?"

The doctor nods her head and gestures to the door. "Of course. If you'll just come this way..."

* * *

It's an unfortunate reality of the life Santana lives, but Sugar is far from being the first injured kid she's ever seen. At this point, she's seen it all. It's the first time in a while that she's really known the person she's trying to keep safe though. Although _known_ might be pushing it a bit. She tolerates Sugar's presence because it's what Brittany wants. Mostly. Okay, so she might have developed a bit of a soft spot for the teenager with her killer confidence and unrepentant princess attitude. Only a small one though.

Seeing Sugar lying in that cold hospital bed twists Santana's heart in a way that surprises her. No emotional attachments. That's what she's learned over her lifetime. It's the lesson her father did his best to hammer home. Emotions make you weak. Sloppy. It's hard enough to stay alive in this line of 'work' even without the distraction of _feelings_. Between Brittany and Random Teenager, Santana has been doing a really shit job these past few days at keeping her distance. The sickly feeling in her stomach at the sight of Sugar, pale and motionless with wires coming off her and attached to a steadily beeping machine, reminds her why she's always needed that distance. Everyone leaves eventually. Why make it harder on herself?

Brittany whimpers and pushes past Santana to kneel beside the hospital bed.

"I'll give you two a few minutes," the surgeon says quietly to Santana, then she gracefully bows out the room, leaving them alone.

For a long time, Santana stays rooted to her spot by the door and watches Brittany beg for forgiveness that an unconscious Sugar can't give her. It's a pitiful sight that she wishes she could turn away from.

"Please, Sugar. Just wake up, okay?"

Santana blinks; her eyes dry and scratchy. "Britt..." She clears her throat. "She's... She's only just come out of surgery. It's going to take a while." The look of animosity Brittany shoots her makes her flinch. The mood swings are throwing Santana off balance.

Slowly, she approaches the bed, making a detour to the corner of the room to retrieve an uncomfortable looking, plastic chair and pushing it to where Brittany still kneels on the floor. Brittany lets out a sigh and allows Santana to pull her up off the ground and into the chair.

"Thanks," she mumbles, and Santana kisses her on a damp, salty cheek before she turns her attention to Sugar.

"Well, kid," she says, almost amused now she knows Sugar isn't going to die, "maybe next time I tell you to keep your fat ass somewhere you'll listen to me." She can almost imagine the look of comical outrage on Sugar's face had she heard that fat ass comment.

"She saved me," says Brittany. She tenderly brushes some stray hair out of Sugar's face. "She pushed me out of the way before the demon could get me." The idea makes Santana uneasy for some reason. "Why would she do that? She doesn't even know me."

"I don't know," Santana replies heavily. "It kind of makes her my hero though." Brittany's eyes flicker with surprise. "What? If she really did save you then yeah, kid's all right in my book. She's braver than I was at sixteen." The look Brittany's gives her suggests she very much doubts that.

"She is pretty awesome," Brittany tells her eventually. "When she wakes up I'm going to buy her every single handbag ever made."

"How generous," says Santana dryly, knowing full well who's money will be used to pay for this unnecessary lifetime supply. She doesn't care though because Brittany is starting to relax and this is the furthest away she's looked from sobbing in the last twelve hours.

Brittany makes a small humming noise of approval and takes Sugar's hand in her own, stroking it gently with her thumb. The affectionate gesture makes Santana pause for a moment; Brittany would make such a good mother. She's so warm and caring and everything that Santana isn't. Briefly, she wonders what they much look like to outsiders right now. Do they look like a real family?

Santana shakes her head to dispel the train of thought. What the hell is she thinking shit like that for? It's just...when she looks at Sugar and Brittany together she can't help but feel a strange sort of tugging at her heart. She must be over tired.

To distract herself, Santana pulls her cell phone from her pocket and types out a quick text to Sam. _Sugar's alive just in case anybody cares. What's happening? _She doesn't get an immediate response and Santana has to force herself not to worry about that.

"You should try and get some sleep, Britt," Santana says after a few minutes.

"I want to be here when she wakes up," replies Brittany, looking scandalised. Santana smiles. "I am really tired though..."

"Then try and get a couple of hours where you are. The chair is probably going to be uncomfortable but it's better than nothing." Brittany seems to consider this before nodding.

"What are you going to do?" she asks. Her speech is slurred and her eyes bloodshot.

Santana thinks for a moment. "I'm going to give Trouty Mouth another call and then speak to the doctor. I want a bit more info about what we're gonna need to do to get Sugar out of here as soon as possible."

Just as she finishes speaking, her phone buzzes. _Good_, the text reads. _Still don't know where we're going next. Waiting until tonight for the funeral. Rachel won't stop singing MacArthur Park. I think she's gone mad._

Change of plan then. "Or maybe I'll not call Trouty Mouth and find some food instead," she says with bob of her head. Yeah, food sounds much better. When was the last time they ate? A while ago.

"Bring me back-"

"-Some M&Ms," Santana finishes with a grin. "I know, Britt. Try and get some sleep."

* * *

Brittany sleeps through the rest of the day, leaning awkwardly from her chair to Sugar's hospital bed with her head resting somewhere between her crossed arms. Santana, having always been a light sleeper, finds it more difficult to rest peacefully with nurses coming in and out of the room every couple of hours to check Sugar's stitches and...whatever else it is they're checking, but she gets in enough sleep that she doesn't feel like she could collapse from exhaustion at any given moment.

"Mom?"

The tired groan rouses Santana from her fitful slumber and she blinks rapidly and lifts her head. "Huh...wha'?" she grumbles, looking around for the source of the noise.

"Mama?"

Santana's eyes find Sugar's and she lets out a sigh of relief. "No, Sugar. It's me. Santana."

Sugar blinks, confused. Then, "Right. Yeah. _Santana_." She looks like she might cry. "Where are we?"

"Hospital," Santana supplies. "What do you remember?"

For a few moments, Sugar says nothing. Her heavy-lidded gaze drifts to the ceiling and Santana can practically see the cogs turning in her head. It looks painful. Then Sugar gasps and her eyes widen.

"Woah, calm down!" says Santana, pushing the girl down as she tries to sit upright. "You're gonna pull your stitches."

"But...Mo- Brittany! Is she okay?" Sugar says, her weak struggling would be comical if Santana didn't know how much extra pain it would cause later.

"Calm down," she says sternly. "Now! Brittany is right next to you. Look!"

Sugar falls back onto the bed and snaps her head around. Sure enough, there lies Brittany, who is starting to wake up; probably because of the ruckus Sugar has just caused. "Oh my God," Sugar mumbles, a tone of reverence in her voice. "I did it."

"Did wha-"

But she is cut off by Brittany's own gasp of surprise as she raises her head and sees that Sugar is awake. "Oh my God," she says, in the exact same way Sugar had just said these words. Tears start to roll down her cheeks. "You're awake."

"Don't cry. I'm okay," says Sugar, with a pained grin. "I'm awesome."

"I'm so sorry, Sugar."

"Don't be sorry," Sugar says. "I'm a superhero." She tries to move and the silly smile on her face morphs into a grimace. "My power isn't healing myself though. What's wrong with me?"

"You almost died is what's wrong with you," Santana snaps. A fucking _superhero _indeed. "What the hell were you thinking!" The smile drops from Sugar's almost-grey face and Brittany looks at her reproachfully. "Nuh-uh don't you two look at me like I'm in the wrong here. You could have _died_, kid. There's a reason I told you to stay in that motel room!"

"It was worth it," Sugar mutters under her breath, but she flinches when Santana slams her hand down and around the metal headboard.

"That is not the point! I gave you direct order!"

"Santana..." Brittany says tiredly. The sound does a little to dissipate the anger that coils through her body now. "Not now. Not when she's hurt. Please?"

With two sets of wide, puppy dog eyes being directed at her, it's really difficult to stay mad, but Santana makes a valiant effort nonetheless. "Fine. But we'll be talking about this again."

Folding her arms and letting out a huff, Sugar flops back onto the pillow (not that she was sat up in the first place) and closes her eyes. Santana sighs; the kid looks terrible. Like, really bad. She has two black eyes and there's no way her skin should be that shade of grey. She's experienced heavy blood loss before but never to this extent so she's really not sure if this is normal. The benefits of hunting with a doctor meant that her injuries were treated fairly quickly.

"We should probably go get Dr Kapoor," Brittany says, though by 'we', she clearly means Santana. She's stopped crying again and is using the hand that isn't still holding Sugar's to stroke the girl's forehead and there is obviously no intent to move for a good while.

So naturally, this is when Santana's phone rings. She nods at Brittany, indicating that she'll fetch the doctor when she's done on the phone. The caller is not who she's expecting.

"Liberace," Santana says by way of greeting. Though her eyes are still closed, Sugar smiles at that. It's surprising she's still awake.

There's a pause. "_That was weak. You can do better than that, Santana_," Kurt says.

"Well you know what? In the last twenty-four hours I've been attacked no fewer than _three_ _times_ by a hoard of fucking super powered hell-spawn. So why don't you shove the condescension up that lilywhite ass of yours," she snipes. "Is there something you wanted, _Kurt_? Because I'm really not in the mood for small talk."

Even though she can't actually see him, Santana can tell that Kurt is bursting at the seams with an irritated diatribe. She's impressed with his restraint when all he says in reply is a brief apology before telling her why he was calling.

"_Mercedes had another dream_," he says, and Santana notes the tone of concern in his voice.

"Is that right?" she replies dubiously. "The last time Mercedes had a dream didn't work out so well for us." She glances at Brittany, who is hanging on every word.

"_This one was different_," says Kurt. He says it in such a way that Santana cannot help but believe him. "_It was...well, there's a reason I'm the one calling you and not her. She's too drained to even get out of bed_."

"How can you be sure it wasn't sent by the demons again?" Santana has zero intention of walking into another trap. She suspects they won't be quite as lucky a second time around.

"_As soon as we realised our...mistake the first time, we set up wards around the house to keep out unwanted interference_." As much as he irritates the hell out of her, Santana has always admired Kurt's loyalty to Mercedes. _Our mistake_ wasn't really Kurt's mistake at all, but he's willing to accept half the responsibility.

"All right then," she says after a moment of thought. She is still wary of the information but she might as well hear him out before she makes a decision.

Kurt goes on to describe Mercedes' 'vision' in as much detail as he can for a man who didn't actually see it for himself. It's clear he's trying to make up for their previous error, though Santana isn't quite ready to let go of her anger yet. Every time she closes her eyes she still sees Brittany's face contorted with ugly hatred and rage with soulless black eyes staring out at her. It's going to take a while before that mental image goes away. Maybe even longer than it will take the image of Sugar bleeding to death in the back of her car to leave her consciousness.

"So the demon was telling the truth then," Santana says, mostly to herself, when Kurt has finally finished talking. He doesn't know what she's talking about so he stays silent. "I've already made sure Will and Emma have left the area."

"_The demons don't know that_," Kurt points out.

Santana makes a quiet humming noise (_maybe_, she thinks) and focuses her attention on Sugar and Brittany. Sugar looks like she's drifting off back to sleep, thank God.

"How much time do we have?" she then asks.

"_I don't know_," Kurt admits reluctantly. "_Not long. Maybe tomorrow night. Maybe the night after. You need to move quickly_." _Damn_.

"Fine." _It's not fine_. "Call me if Mercedes picks up anything else."

Before Kurt can reply, Santana has already disconnected the call. She doesn't want to listen to his voice any more than she already has and she needs to think of a way to tell Brittany that they have to leave. Right now and with or without Sugar. Because next stop: Lima, Ohio.

* * *

**Author's Note(s):** Thank you for reading! As an aside, I feel like I should warn you now that this story is coming to a close soon. There aren't many chapters left.


	19. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Glee or the world in which this story is based.

**No Rest for the Wicked  
**_Chapter 17_

Santana fiddles with her phone for more than ten minutes before she can meet Brittany's inquisitive gaze.

"That was Kurt," she says, needlessly. Brittany nods, because she'd heard Santana address him as such while she spoke to him. "We uh...have a new location on the demons."

Unsurprisingly, Brittany doesn't look overly happy about this piece of news. Santana has known from the beginning that once the two of them got into the swing of things with the hunting that Brittany would realise it isn't all it cracked up to be. She'd been very convincing the last couple of weeks though so Santana has been hoping it would take a little longer than this. It's a horrible kind of push and pull in her mind. She desperately wants Brittany stay; she desperately wants Brittany leave.

"Isn't that a good thing?" Sugar asks, breaking the tense silence. She sounds like she's barely clinging to consciousness.

"Not until we have a plan of attack," Santana tells her. Another pause.

"Why did Kurt call you?" Brittany says. Santana raises an eyebrow in question. "Why did he call you and not somebody else?"

"Um...I dunno. Maybe I'm his favourite?" Brittany's eyes flash dangerously; she is not amused. "I don't know, Brittany. Probably because he still feels guilty about the whole 'demon possession thing' last night. As he should."

Brittany looks away. "We can't leave. Not until Sugar is better."

"Then you can stay here," Santana offers, though it pains her to do so.

"I'm not leaving you to go alone either!" Brittany says immediately.

"Right...You're not leaving me with many options here," says Santana. She can feel an anger rising to the surface that's never been directed at Brittany before and has to force herself to take a breath before she says something she knows she'll regret.

"We both need to stay here and look after Sugar until she gets better. Let the others fight the demons," Brittany says.

"You know I can't do that."

"But, Santana–"

"Please don't fight," Sugar interrupts weakly. Both women bite their tongues and look over at the teenager lying injured in the hospital bed. "I hate it when you fight."

"We're not fighting," says Brittany, patting her arm with a forced smile. "We won't talk about it anymore, okay?"

"Like hell we won't," Santana protests. "People are relying on me, Brittany. You _have_ to understand why I can't let them down by not showing up."

Something in Brittany's face changes and Santana sees the gentle way her shoulders slump. "We'll talk about it outside," she says, turning a pair of sad eyes to Sugar before kissing her lightly on her temple. "We'll be right back, okay?" There's an almost speculative look on Sugar's face as she nods in return, but Santana is much to distracted to really take note of it.

"Come on," Santana mutters and then leads the way out of the oppressive hospital room and into the hallway. It's surprisingly quiet this time and they move a few feet away from the door so Sugar can no longer hear their conversation. That's about as much as Santana is willing to compromise for the moment.

"Santana," Brittany finally says, her tone less forceful. She sits down on the gurney they've stopped next to and looks up with that doleful expression that cuts through Santana's heart faster than any knife ever could.

"I'm going, Brittany," Santana says before her girlfriend can carry on with whatever thought she was about to express. "With or without you. I'm going." Though she had been obviously expecting it, Brittany still hangs her head with disappointment. "I'm sorry."

"I know you are," Brittany accepts.

They stay there for a few moments more, each in contemplative silence. Santana takes the time to take in the other woman's appearance and swallows. Brittany's pale at the best of the times, but right now she's almost blending in with the dull, off-white paint on the hospital walls. It's only the dark bruises under her eyes that gives her face any colour at all. No, the last couple of days haven't been kind of either of them.

"You should stay here," Santana says, coming to a decision. "Sugar might need you."

Brittany bites her bottom lip and looks away. The conflict plays across her face. "But...I think you might need me more," she says. Santana's heart does a funny little flip at those words.

"I'll be fine, Brittany." Santana sits next to her on the hospital bed and leans back against the wall. "Thanks for...you know...wanting to help me, but I've been doing stuff like this by myself for years."

"Just because you _can_ do something though doesn't mean you should have to," Brittany points out. "I want us to do these things together even if it is super scary and we might die because of it."

Santana's eyebrows contract and she purses her lips. She usually tries not to consider the possibility of dying right before going on a hunt; it doesn't do well for morale and she finds herself better able to handle things on the assumption she'll be coming out the other end in one piece. Or at least not too many pieces to fit back together. "We will do these things together," Santana tells her. "We don't have to do _everything_ together though. 'Cause you're right; this is more dangerous than it usually is and you're basically an amateur." Brittany's eyes narrow at that but she says nothing. "Maybe it would be for the best if you sit this one out?"

"No."

"No?"

"No." Brittany reaches over and takes Santana's hand in her own. "I know what you're saying makes sense, but I want to stay with you. I can help and I'd never be able to forgive myself if something bad happened to you and I wasn't there." She offers Santana a small smile. "I don't want to leave Sugar but I think she might be safer without me here anyway. The demons already went after me once and what if they tried it again but I was here all by myself?" Santana hadn't even considered that possibility.

"See, you're thinking like a hunter already," she says with a grin. "I am such a good teacher I amaze even myself sometimes."

Brittany lets out a little laugh and shoves her to the side. "You're the worst teacher ever. You're lucky you're pretty."

"So you hang around me because you're hot for teacher? I can live with that," Santana says. They smile at each other, just for a second, before it fades and the situation comes crashing back to them. "What are we going to tell Sugar?"

"Um..." Brittany fiddles with the hem of her scrubs. "I don't know."

Santana nods. She supposes they'll think of something as they go. Maybe Sugar will understand. "We'll ask her one last time to tell us where her parents are. We can call them or maybe we can drop her off at home before we head back to Artie's." Her heart clenches; wait, not Artie's anymore.

"Okay then," says Brittany sadly. They sit for just a minute longer before Santana finally drags herself up and pulls Brittany along behind her.

Santana takes a deep breath before pushing the door open to re-enter Sugar's room. Hopefully the kid won't have already fallen asleep because on top of the whole 'abandonment' thing she doesn't want to be the bitch who woke up the severely wounded girl and disrupted her recovery.

"Where is she?"

"Huh?"

Santana blinks, pulling herself from her thoughts to look around the room. The _vacant_ room.

"Maybe she's in the bathroom?" Brittany brushes past her to check through the next door, and by the look on her face, comes up empty.

"Okay, that's weird..."

"I don't understand! Did the demons come back?" Brittany is very quickly on the verge of panicking and Santana moves from the corner of the room to rest a hand on her back. "How can she be gone? We didn't move away from the door."

"I don't know," replies Santana, equally at a loss. She sniffs the air; no sulphur so probably no demons.

"Where is she!"

"I. Don't. Know."

"Maybe the doctor came and took her for scans or something?" Brittany mutters hopelessly, her gaze darting around the room like Sugar will be hidden the shadows somewhere. "But we could see the door the whole time..."

Unlikely though it is, Santana expects that's exactly what has happened (it's really the only explanation) and squeezes Brittany's arm in a way she hopes brings comfort to the woman. "We'll just wait for a few minutes. I'm sure she'll be back."

Brittany's shoulders relax and she nods her head. Santana reaches down to take Brittany's hand and leads her back over to the bed so they can sit down again.

"Santana! A note!"

"Huh?"

Santana follows Brittany's gaze and sees a folded up piece of paper resting on Sugar's pillow. It says both of their names in large, curly handwriting. She can already tell it's from Sugar because instead of a dot above the 'i' in Brittany's name, there is a small heart.

Furrowing her brows, Santana steps ahead of Brittany and picks up the letter from the bed and unfolds it to read aloud.

_Dear Santana and Brittany,_

_Thanks for taking care of me even though I know you didn't want to. I'm going home now because you two need to fight demons and save the world and stuff and even though I'm the best hunter going you should probably do it without me to give the monsters a chance too. _

_Don't worry about me because unless my moms kill me (don't kill me) when I get home I'll be totally fine. _

_Lots of love,_

_The Awesome and Heroic Sugar_

_P.S. Please don't cry anymore, Brittany. Saving you was worth it. _

_P.P.S. You'll see me again so try not to miss me too much._

_P.P.P.S. Don't bother looking for me because you won't find me._

When Santana finishes reading the letter, her mouth snaps shut with a audible click of her teeth. What the actual fuck.

"I don't understand," says Brittany in voice much higher than her usual. "We didn't move away from the door. Unless she can suddenly travel by rainbow like a leprechaun there's no way she could have left without help from somebody."

A thought niggles at the back of Santana's mind. She remembers the first time she'd seen Sugar; it was outside the Roadhouse, and she hadn't been alone. Santana doesn't know why it's taken her so long to connect those events to the girl they've been hanging around with for the last two days. Sugar had seemingly appeared from thin air, though Santana had obviously dismissed it as her eyes playing tricks on her. Then there was that dude with the blue eyes and the trench coat. Who had he been? A chill runs down Santana's spine as she remembers the gentle sound of his emotionless voice.

"Santana," says Brittany, like this isn't the first time she's called her name. "What are we going to do? We have to find her!"

Santana hums under her breath. She has a strange feeling they won't find Sugar no matter how hard they look. "Maybe we should just..."

"Santana!"

"...search the hospital," she finishes, "is what I was going to say. Search the hospital and see if we can find her first."

A determined look on her face, Brittany nods and starts to explain to Santana their 'plan of action'. It's the first time Brittany has taken charge of their interactions (outside the bedroom that is) and Santana would be lying if she said she isn't just a little turned on by it. She guiltily pushes those thoughts away and tries to focus on what Brittany wants her to do.

They split up and take half the hospital each at first, and when they meet back up Brittany is wearing a lab coat with an ID card hanging from the pocket. "Needed it to get in the morgue," she says with a shrug, and Santana wonders why she herself never thought of that. They switch sides then but Santana doesn't put as much effort as she probably should into her search; she's very sure that Sugar is gone for good now, though she tries her best not to think too hard about it. One insane crisis at a time. She probably should be more worried, but she remembers the way Sugar spoke to the strange man and doesn't get the impression that the girl felt in danger. Besides, she has a feeling that Sugar can take care of herself. At least she hopes that's the case.

There's a loud beeping sound over the hospital intercom system that makes Santana jump; Dr Kapoor is being summoned to a room that Santana very much hopes isn't Sugar's. It's only a matter of time before the hospital staff to notice the kid is missing and start their own search. She'd like to be gone before that happens. It won't do to have them start looking into the details of her insurance form while they're still in the hospital. Evading the police on top of everything else that's happened would be another layer of complication Santana just can't deal with now.

As she mulls this over, her phone begins to vibrate. She ducks down an empty hallway.

"_We've done it_," is the first thing Sam says to her when she brings the phone to her ear. Her breath catches in her throat. She knows exactly what he's talking about. "_Bodies first and we're about to do the house_."

"Okay," she replies, in a voice that sounds strange to her own ears.

"_It's fucking tragic, you know_?" Sam says. She can't decide if he sounds more pissed off or just sad. "_Such a waste_."

"I know," she answers, not really knowing what else to say.

There's a pause and then Santana hears Sam let out a long sigh. "_Quinn thinks we should head to Ohio next because of that demon you and Puck fought earlier. It said they were targeting the Shusters next, right_?"

It dawns on Santana that she hasn't actually told anybody but Brittany about the phone call she'd had from Kurt. Oops. "Um...yeah I think that's a good idea. I have a couple of developments to share with you guys anyway."

"_What developments_?" asks Sam suspiciously.

"I'd rather tell everyone together so I don't have to repeat myself," Santana replies. "When you're done just head to Lima."

For a moment, she thinks he's going to argue with her, but then he lets out another one of those exhausted sighs. "_Okay then. We'll just finish up here and I'll text you when we're on our way. What are you gonna do_?"

"Sugar has gone AWOL so-"

"_What_?"

"Yeah, she's gone. No idea where."

"_How? She was almost dead five minutes ago_!"

"I'm aware, thank you," Santana huffs. "I don't know what happened. We're gonna search the hospital one more time and then go. There's nothing else we can do and if the kid doesn't want to be found then I don't think we'll be able to."

Sam lets out a low breath that turns into an incredulous whistle. "_Well, whatever then_." Santana hums in response. "_I'll let the others know what you said and I'll see you soon_."

"Stay safe, Trouty Mouth," Santana says before she can stop herself.

There's a surprised pause before Sam replies, "_Yeah, you too_." He hangs up the phone. What the hell is wrong with her? She shakes her head at her embarrassing display of sentimentality and returns her phone to her pocket. Time to meet back up with Brittany.

* * *

Brittany cries for the first two hours of their journey to Lima, Ohio while still clutching desperately at the letter from Sugar, as though reading it over and over will somehow change it's meaning. Unable to watch her girlfriend sob, Santana keeps her eyes glued firmly on the road in front of her. It's a blessed relief when she finally falls asleep, leaving the car quiet enough for Santana to _think_. It's not that she isn't upset by Sugar's disappearance; it's that she knows they have more pressing problems. She glances nervously at Brittany and worries that she'll think Santana is some kind of monster for thinking this way. She resolves to just not say it aloud.

* * *

By hour eleven of the drive, Santana is starting to wilt. It's getting dark once more and she hopes against hope that their next demon attack will wait until tomorrow so she can get some damn rest. She glances over at Brittany, who is still fast asleep with her face pressed against the window. Time to wake up sleeping beauty.

Brittany mumbles incoherently under her breath when Santana reaches over and shakes her shoulder.

"Come on, Brittany. We'll be there in about half an hour," Santana says.

"Mmm, jus' five more minutes 'Tana?" Brittany grumbles, making no effort to pull her face from the window.

"Okay," she concedes. "Five more minutes."

It takes twenty minutes for Brittany to rouse herself enough to push herself into an upwards sitting position. Santana pretends not to notice the surreptitious way Brittany wipes drool from her face. "Why's it dark? Are we there?"

Santana chuckles. "It's dark 'cause you just slept for like...nine hours. I hope you're feeling rested because you might have to carry me into the house when we get there."

There's a moment of silence before Brittany gasps. "I'm so sorry, Santana. I didn't mean to fall asleep for that long! We were supposed to split the driving-"

"Don't worry about it," Santana interrupts with a shrug. "This isn't the first time I've done this. It's fine. You needed the sleep."

Brittany can't argue that point. "I'm still sorry. I'll drive next time." She rubs her eyes and Santana can see her fighting off a yawn. "So, we're in Lima now?"

"Yeah," Santana says, turning a corner into a less residential area. "You can tell because of that overwhelming stench of mediocrity and despair. Why Will and Emma chose to move here I will _never_ know."

"It not that bad," Brittany replies. "Look. That restaurant is called Breadstix with an 'X'. That means it's cool and modern."

Santana snorts. "We can eat there tomorrow if you want. See if it lives up to your expectations. I love a good breadstick."

"You mean like a second date?"

"Um..." Santana looks shiftily over at Brittany, wondering if this is a trap of some kind. "If you...If that's what you want."

Brittany makes a noise of agreement and nods her head. "Yeah. We'll go. It'll be nice."

"Okay then." Santana is a still a little dubious. "Hey, this is the street."

Brittany sits up a little straighter and peers out the window towards the identical rows of small houses. They're all a bit shabby and unkempt but there's a certain charm to them, Santana supposes. Well, not that one with the boarded up windows and graffiti across the walls... She spots Quinn's, Puck's and Sam's cars across the street and pulls to a stop. Time to face the music again.

"You ready?" she asks.

"Not really," says Brittany. Then she offers Santana a sad, lopsided smile. "Time to kill some demons?"

Santana smirks back at her. "That's the plan."

* * *

They get out the car and Brittany tries to stretch away the cramps in her muscles from sleeping in the same, awkward position for much too long. She hates long drives, not that she'll ever tell Santana that. Though it's possible Santana already knows because she tends to notice things like that. She walks over to Santana's side of the car and links their arms together; while she knows nobody in that house is going to hurt her, she doesn't really like being the only person in there who doesn't know everybody. It makes her feel like an outsider.

Santana takes the lead, as often she does, and they walk to the house that Brittany guesses must be their destination. She closes her eyes for a moment and tries to shake off the lingering sleepiness from her mind as Santana knocks loudly on the front door.

"Hey there, sweetcheeks!" says a bright voice, after the door is opened remarkably quickly. "Long time no see."

"Hey, Holly," replies Santana with a wry smile. "How's it going?"

Holly isn't what Brittany had expected at all. She's blonde and leggy with a fashion sense that Brittany could definitely get behind...and there's a mischievous sparkle in her eye that doesn't quite fit with Brittany's current view of hunters. She seems inherently happier than Santana's other friends.

"The Scooby Doo gang's all here so it's getting pretty intense," Holly tells them. Her eyes then slide over to Brittany. "Mercedes' description did not do you justice at all. You are smokin' hot." Out of the corner of her eye, she can Santana roll her eyes. "Good job, Santana."

"Um...thanks," Brittany says, her face feeling hot under the older woman's scrutiny. She tries to muster up a smile, but with her heart too heavy with the loss of Sugar she can't. "I'm Brittany."

Holly takes her hand and kisses it. "Holly Holiday. Enchanté," she says with a wink. Brittany's not quite sure how to react to that.

"Oh good lord," Santana mutters. Is that a hint of jealousy Brittany can hear? "Get out of our way, Holly. We have stuff to do."

Holly laughs. "Okay, okay. After you." She moves aside and gestures into the house. "We just ordered a buttload of Chinese food so everyone is in the kitchen."

Unconsciously, Brittany tightens her grip around Santana's bicep as they step through the door to meet up with two fewer people than they had done the day before. Santana pats her hand gently.

The house is pretty much the opposite to Artie's. There's stuff everywhere, like Artie's, but it's chaotic and spread out over a number of shelves affixed to the walls rather than organised neatly and in order of usefulness. And whereas Artie's house had felt worn and lived in, Holly's house feels like a show home but with a mismatched group of knickknacks and artefacts scattered around. Brittany wonders when she moved in here, because she wouldn't be surprised if it wasn't very long ago.

"So, Santana," Holly begins, "I haven't seen you around in a while."

"So everyone keeps telling me."

"I was sorry to hear about your dad," Holly adds, though she doesn't sound all that sorry. Santana doesn't respond but her arm muscles twitch under Brittany's hand.

"Are you a hunter, Holly?" Brittany asks, sensing that Santana wants a change of subject.

"Nah - it's that door there, 'Tana - I'm more of a hunter _ally_," Holly replies. She's not sure what that means but neither Holly or Santana offer up further information.

"It's _San_tana."

"Sure thing, hot stuff."

The mood in the kitchen is sombre and she feels Santana take a protective step closer to her when everyone turns to look at them. Rachel isn't crying this time, to Brittany's relief, but her eyes are glassy and red-rimmed and she leans into Finn for comfort. Brittany wonders if they're actually a couple because she kind of can't tell. Santana raises her hand in greeting but only Sam responds in kind.

"Nice of you to finally grace us with your presence," says Quinn, voice lacking her usual bite. Her hair has been tied back in a messy ponytail and Brittany sees that the exhaustion in her face is reflected in Santana's. She tries to ignore the way guilt twists in her gut over falling asleep in the car and steers Santana to sit in the only spare chair available around the table; she's worried if Santana doesn't sit down very soon then she'll fall down.

"Did you find the kid?" Sam asks.

"No," says Brittany, standing just over Santana's shoulder. Sam nods but doesn't press for more answers. She pouts. Why does nobody but her care about Sugar?

There's an awkward silence that Holly breaks by dropping a small tumbler of amber liquid on the table in front of Santana. "You look like you need it," she says with a smirk, and then pushes a second glass into Brittany's hand. They both take a drink and it takes all of Brittany's self-control not to cough as the burning liquid slides down her throat.

"So," says Santana, then she pauses for a moment as though actually _savouring_ the burning alcohol. "Anything new?"

Quinn's eyes flash in their direction. "No. We've been waiting for the great Santana Lopez to come and enlighten us all."

Santana opens her mouth to respond but Puck beats her to it. "Give it a rest, Quinn," he says, knocking his own drink against the hard, round table. "We've all had a shitty day and we're all tired."

With a scowl, Quinn folds her arms and leans back in her chair. "Fine. Just tell us what you know."

The doorbell rings and Holly pushes herself forward off the kitchen counter. "B.R.B., guys. Chinese food waits for no woman."

When she's gone, all eyes turn back to Santana. "So what is it then?" Puck says. "Mercedes saw the demons again, right? Where we going this time? Hospital? Bar? Dog park? Out of our minds?"

"What the hell is a dog park?"

"Do not approach the dog park," Sam says in a voice much deeper than his usual timbre. "Dogs are not allowed in the dog park. People are not allowed in the dog park. Do not approach the dog park."

Santana blinks. "You are so fucking weird sometimes." Sam smiles back in a benign sort of way, but even Brittany can tell it doesn't hold his usual spark. She reminds herself that she isn't the only person in this room suffering from a loss today.

"You love it," says Sam lightly. Brittany narrows her eyes and leans forward to place her still half-full glass down with a _thunk_. She doesn't care what Sugar said; that boy needs to stop saying things like that to her girlfriend.

"You okay, Britt?" Santana asks quietly. She's aware that everyone is watching them and probably judging them so Brittany just forces a strained smile and nods her head.

Quinn bangs her hand down heavily on the table. "Focus, people!"

That's when Holly comes back in the room. "So, ladies and gents, turns out you get a lot more bang for your buck at this new take-out." Brittany turns around as Holly gestures to the three people behind her entering the already overcrowded kitchen. "I must order from there more often. Chinese food, Chinese people and a white guy who kindly offered to pay off our dinner bill."

Kurt frowns and walks forward to dump three white carrier bags on the table in between the hunters. "No, I didn't."

"I'm Korean," Tina interjects. Holly waves her off and Mike pats her on the shoulder in sympathy.

Well, at least this is starting to feel a bit more like that tiny army Mercedes wanted them to raise. She smiles at Kurt and he offers her a small grin in return.

"Hey, guys," says Finn with a tired smile. "What are you doing here?"

"I thought you were caught up in another case," Santana asks, her voice flat.

"We were," says Tina, giving Santana an inscrutable look that has her shifting uncomfortably in her chair. Brittany nudges her gently to let her know she's still there. "Then we weren't. We heard about Artie and we've come to help." Brittany's heart starts to beat a little faster. With everything that has happened in the last twenty-four hours it's easy to forget that the young man with the wheelchair and troubled smile is no longer with them.

"Dead vamps everywhere then?" asks Puck. The couple both nod and then shoot Santana another of those odd looks. Puck raises his glass to them and takes a long drink. "Another win for the good guys. And what about you, Kurtsie? Don't usually see you outside 'Mystic's 'R' Us' or whatever you and Mercedes are calling that little side business these days."

Kurt smiles rather coldly. "Very funny. Mercedes had another vision and we both felt so terrible about what happened yesterday that I thought it best to come up myself. I might be able to offer some insight."

"Like, _another_ another vision?" Santana asks. "Or the one you've already told me about?"

"_Another_ another vision," Kurt confirms. He circles the table and leans back against the kitchen unit where Holly has resumed standing. "We have a specific time now. Midnight." Everyone in the room stiffens and glances towards the large, orange wall clock. "Tomorrow. Not tonight."

"It doesn't matter if it's tonight or tomorrow night," Quinn snaps. Beneath the dark circles under her eyes and her pink cheeks her face is deathly pale. "We don't have a plan! I'm not willing to walk blindly into danger again with no way of defending myself. We're going to get killed just like Artie and Rory did."

In the silence that follows that statement a pin could have dropped three streets away and every single one of them would have heard it. Brittany steps a little closer to the chair and Santana wraps an arm around her waist. It's probably the wrong time to be thinking about it, but Brittany is grateful Santana isn't trying to hide their relationship now. She doesn't want her potentially last day on Earth to be filled with secrets.

"Not '_no way'_ of defending yourself," Santana says slowly. "Or were you just not planning to bring up that little knife of yours, Fabray?"

"What knife?" asks Sam.

Quinn glares at her, but Santana remains undeterred. "I hope you have a good reason for not sharing it's existence with the class in the first place."

"You said it yourself," Quinn says eventually with a dismissive shrug of her shoulders, "It's just a little knife. How would it have helped?"

"What knife are we talking about here?" Sam asks again, more loudly this time.

Quinn lets out a long, beleaguered sigh and bends down under the table to retrieve said weapon from it's apparent home in her boot. "This knife." She lays it down on the table and everyone leans in to get a closer look.

It's an okay knife, Brittany thinks, but she can practically feel everyone else in the room salivating over it. Seriously, what is it with these people and their weapons? It has a wooden handle and though one edge of the knife is smooth, the other is painfully jagged, both leading to a dangerous point. She squints at the flat metal; there are strange runes she doesn't recognise etched into the sides. Maybe Santana knows what they say. She'll ask her later.

"Oh my God," Kurt breathes. "Where did you get this?"

"What is it?" Rachel asks, speaking for the first time since Santana and Brittany had entered the house.

"I saw Quinn kill a demon with it," Santana supplies. "And I mean _dead_ dead. Not back to hell dead."

"Shelby gave it to me a few months ago," says Quinn begrudgingly. "Now she's not hunting anymore she told me she wouldn't need it."

"Woah, hold up a second," Holly interrupts. "Shelby Corcoran isn't hunting anymore? _The_ Shelby Corcoran?" Quinn shakes her head. "I knew she was shacking up with that little blonde alcoholic but I had no idea she was quitting the business."

"They adopted a...baby," says Quinn, her eyes dropping to the table. "Beth." Santana squints at her. There's something Quinn isn't saying. "And April isn't drinking anymore." The sound Holly makes in response to that tells them she very much doubts that's true.

"Where did Shelby get it from?" Kurt asks, having completely ignored the little conversation sidetrack. "I thought this knife was a myth."

"She said she took it from a demon about fifteen years ago and she's had it ever since," says Quinn. She pushes the knife closer to him with her index finger. "It's only one knife. I didn't bring it up because I didn't think it would help against a hoard."

"A likely story," says Santana snidely, earning herself a poke to the ribs from Brittany.

"It's very valuable," says Kurt. "Rumoured to be able to kill almost any creature, demons included." He sighs. "Quinn is right though. It won't help us with killing multiple monsters at once. And," he shoots Quinn a rather scathing look, "it kills the person being possessed, which I think we can all agree is not a good thing."

"Okay then. I'm glad I know you feel that way," says Quinn in a smooth voice. "If I ever see a demon flaying you alive I'll be sure to consider the moral ramifications of using my only potential weapon before coming to your aid." She smiles coldly and downs the rest of the whiskey in front of her.

"Sometimes I forget how dramatic hunters can be," says Kurt with a roll of his eyes. He pushes the knife back to Quinn and she returns it to the spot in her shoe. _Very safe_.

"So...the knife is a no-go then?" Puck asks, disappointed.

"I don't see how it would help us," says Kurt with a delicate shrug of his shoulders. There is a distinct air of disappointment in the room at that.

"Okay then, so to sum up we have..." Santana glances at the clock again. "We have twenty-eight hours until the next attack, we still have no plan and our food is going cold? Great."

"You still haven't told us where we're going," Quinn points out.

"That would be William McKinley High School," says Kurt. Then he shudders as though the concept of high school is more horrifying to him than any pack of rabid demons out for blood could ever be. Brittany kind of agrees with him on that.

"A high school?" says Quinn, unimpressed. "What possible reason could they have to go to a _high school_?"

"Clearly you've never read The Deathly Hallows," says Sam. Nobody reponds. Brittany has read The Deathly Hallows though and she understands perfectly. Not that she'll give him the satisfaction of acknowledging it. Sam would probably be a Slytherin if they lived in Hogwarts, she decides unfairly.

"Will works there now," says Holly. "He's a Spanish teacher."

Santana snorts. "A _Spanish_ teacher? Los pobrecitos."

"Anyway," says Kurt, giving Santana a pointed look, "regardless of reasons, that's where it's happening."

"At least it's not in the day when the place will be full of students," says Finn. Everyone nods at that.

"Why _isn't_ it in the day exactly?" says Quinn slowly, in a tone of voice that Brittany doesn't at all like.

"What are you suggesting?" asks Kurt. He sounds like he's well and truly on the end of his tether with her now.

"Just that..." Quinn hesitates. "Don't you think it's odd? If Will and Emma were really their targets, why would they attack in the middle of the night when they won't even be there?"

There's a pause. Then - "The demons know that we know," Santana says, obviously catching on to what Quinn is saying. Brittany's still not sure. "You think their target is _us_."

"I think it's a possibility we should consider. Sue knows we're after them. What better way to get us all in one place and finish us all off at once?"

Brittany can practically see the cogs turning in Santana's mind. "Oh for fucks sake!" she snaps. "So our head start isn't a head start at all? Fan-fucking-tastic!" Her hands twitch and she reaches for the glass on the table. Probably to throw it at the wall. Brittany's hand comes to rest on her shoulder, calming her a little.

"Are you telling me we drove all the way over here to walk into a trap?" asks Tina, alarmed. "Our speciality is vampires. This is pushing it."

"We might be wrong," Puck points out as the tension in the room increases. Is that Rachel crying again? Brittany's heart clenches with fear. "We're just guessing." Santana shoots him a look. "Those bastards are definitely planning to kill us aren't they?"

"Yes," says Quinn.

Puck drops his head against the table. "Does anyone else feel like we're just running into walls?"

"Walls made of fiery brimstone," Santana mutters. Quinn rolls her eyes at the comment.

The conversation goes on like this for the next hour. At one point Puck gets tired of waiting and starts to dole out Chinese food which at least seems to perk up the room a little, but it isn't long until someone (Rachel through hysterical sobs) mentions Artie again and the mood plummets. The fact of the matter is that nobody has a clue about what to do, and Brittany is worried about the way Santana's head keeps dipping like she's about to fall asleep but then wakes with a start. It certainly doesn't help that everyone is both sad and exhausted; it's making even Finn cranky and uncooperative.

Brittany sighs. They're talking in circles, and she is starting to despair. Then she remembers the feel of having her mind completely taken over...being forced to hurt the people she loves...and knows they can't give up. Not until they've exhausted every possibility. Maybe not even then. She has a feeling Santana and a lot of the people in this room would rather go out in a blaze of glory than even consider conceding defeat without even trying.

Somewhere in all the plan-making, Brittany can't help but feel like they're overcomplicating things. To her, it seems like the answer is right in front of them.

Santana yawns and rests her head on Brittany's shoulder for a moment. At some point during the distribution of chicken low mein Santana had shuffled over on her chair and the two are currently sharing (one butt cheek each).

"Oh, I'm sorry, Santana. Are we interrupting your beauty sleep?" says Quinn, with that bitterly sweet smile. It's been like this all night. "Perhaps you'd like us to wait while you have a nap?"

"You know what, Fabray? I am _this close-" _She holds up her thumb and forefinger just millimetres apart from each other, "-to smashing-"

"Santana," Brittany interrupts. Santana clenches her jaw so tightly that Brittany can see a vein in her forehead begin to throb. When Quinn smirks nastily at her, Santana almost jumps out her chair to wring that scrawny white neck. "I uh..." Brittany continues, feeling deeply uncomfortable with everybody watching her, "I might have an idea."

Quinn snorts. "Sure you do." Brittany's cheeks become pink with shame. She remembers this tone vividly. She's been hearing it her whole life.

"Shut the fuck up, Fabray!" Santana shouts. "Don't listen to her, Britt."

"Um...no it's stupid. Sorry...I-"

"No it's not," says Santana, quietly but insistently. "Tell me."

"Nobody else has had anything intelligent to say for the last hour and a half, Brittany," says Kurt with an encouraging smile. "We're not going to judge you."

Santana throws Quinn the dirtiest look she can muster, daring her to disagree. It's a bit embarrassing, but Brittany is grateful she has someone who is willing to defend her.

"Okay..." she starts dubiously, and she tells them her plan.

* * *

**Author's Note(s): **I promise to try and update in a more timely fashion next time. Thanks for still reading, guys, even though I am the worst.

ETA: Thanks to lemon-rind for improving my Spanish!


	20. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Glee or the world in which this story is based.

**No Rest for the Wicked  
**_Chapter 18_

It's a mild day. It's not warm, but the air is completely still to the point of almost stifling. Once upon a time, Santana would have revelled in this kind of atmosphere. It's like the calm before a storm, and it's never been any secret that she thrives on the promise of a good storm. It's the only reason she used to get up in the mornings. Now, however, it just smothers her. A constant reminder that it's one minute to midnight on their own personal Doomsday Clock. She wonders if Brittany feels it too.

"There," Brittany says, pointing to a patch of grass under a large chestnut tree.

Santana changes direction, picnic basket swinging freely between her fingers. It had been decided (by Brittany) this morning in a tangle of naked limbs in their hotel room that they'd spend the day doing things that normal couples do. She'd been at a loss for ideas but Brittany had offered up some very specific plans that were already fully formed in her mind. She'd woken up two hours earlier than Santana this morning and claimed that's when she'd thought about the picnic, but Santana has a feeling that isn't entirely the truth.

"Here," says Brittany. She stops and takes the blanket out from under her arm to spread out on the ground. "It's perfect," she says with a smile.

"Perfect," Santana repeats. She sets down the basket and sucks in a deep breath. She's never done anything like this before and she's not yet sure how she feels about it. So far it seems fairly innocuous, but she's on the look out for any traps.

They sit too close to each other on the soft blanket then take out their lunch, switching one half of their sandwich with each other because Brittany wants to try both kinds, and begin to eat. There's something about the high probability of imminent death that makes you appreciate the little things in life, Santana thinks; this might be the best BLT sandwich she's ever eaten. Or it might not be. The point is she's never taken the time to savour her food before. It's an unfamiliar feeling. Mmm delicious bacon...

"This is nice," says Brittany, once she's more than half way through her meatball sub. "We should do stuff like this more often."

Oh. So they're pretending that they aren't probably going to die later then. Okay. "We should," Santana agrees. "It's nice to get away from greasy diners for a change."

"Nobody has been forcing you to eat in them every single day," Brittany points out.

"A higher power has," says Santana with a definitive nod. "One day it knew if I kept showing up I'd bump into you and..." Her face splits into a wide grin and she cackles. "Okay I can't say cheesy shit like that even as a joke."

Brittany laughs along with her and then shoves her lightly in the arm. "You're such a goofball sometimes."

Pleased, Santana shrugs her shoulders. "You love it."

"Yes," Brittany confirms with a sly smile that she _must_ know drives Santana to distraction.

"Oh...well...good," Santana says. She averts her eyes for a second but looks up again when Brittany presses a kiss to her cheek.

"You're so cute when you're flustered."

"I am not flustered," Santana protests. Then as an afterthought she adds, "Or cute. I'm a danger to society..." Brittany kisses her again and her words trail off.

In an effort to seem like she hasn't been stunned into a stupor, Santana takes a large bite of her sandwich and chews very slowly. Brittany smiles fondly at her and copies the action.

It feels like it's been a long time since the two have had a chance to just relax in each other's company and even though Santana's mind never strays far from what they're about to do tonight, she can't help but feel content. In another life maybe they could have been like this all the time. No worries. Just mindless nine to five jobs and endless picnics. It's weird; a month ago just thinking about living a life of such monotony would have made her nauseous, but now with Brittany by her side she's not so sure.

"What are you thinking?" Brittany asks. Santana washes down the last bite of her sandwich with a drink from her can of Sprite.

"Nothing important," she replies with a shrug of her shoulders. "Just that I'm glad we're here together, I guess."

"Me too," says Brittany. Then she smiles, a little sadly.

"But?" Santana prompts.

Brittany looks away like she's not sure how to respond. "I miss Sugar." _Ah_. "Do you think she's okay?"

"Yeah I do," Santana says honestly. "I think she's home now, hopefully being scolded by her parents for being reckless and generally insane."

With a deep sigh, Brittany rests her head on Santana's shoulder. "Yeah maybe. But why would she leave us without saying goodbye?"

"Maybe she thought we'd stop her," Santana suggests. She leans down to kiss the top of Brittany's head and then wraps an arm around her shoulders. "Maybe she was trying to help us?"

"Okay," says Brittany. Santana feels her nod against her neck. "When we're done here though..."

"We can look for her," Santana agrees. "And you can yell at her for leaving us."

"I don't want to yell at her," says Brittany.

"I'll yell at her then." Brittany snorts like she thinks Santana's joking. She isn't though. She'll kill Sugar for putting Brittany through this. Okay maybe that's an exaggeration. Sugar had saved Brittany from the demon. She'll just give the kid a very stern telling off. Assuming they ever find her...

"Okay. Can we have doughnuts now?" asks Brittany. Thankful for the change of subject, Santana agrees and they resume their peaceful afternoon of eating all those things Santana wouldn't usually allow herself and listening to gentle chirp of birds.

It's strange; the last time they had hung out in a field Santana had been teaching Brittany some basic fighting skills. So much has happened since then that it feels like such a long time ago. She finds herself wishing for those days again. Things were simpler. But then, she didn't _have_ Brittany like she has her now. She's not sure the trade off is worth it.

"Hey, Britt?" Santana says a while later. They've finished eating and are lying on their backs to watch the clouds go by. Brittany squeezes Santana's hand to let her know she's listening. "I want to say something to you but I don't want it to sound patronising..."

Brittany doesn't say anything right away, but then she lets go of Santana's hand to link their pinkies together instead. "Okay," she says, a little apprehensively.

"I just wanted to tell you how proud I am of you," Santana says. Her face heats up and she refuses to meet Brittany's surprised gaze that's now turned in her direction. In answer to the unasked question, Santana continues. "You've just come so far in such a short amount of time."

"Oh..." says Brittany. She seems a bit dazed. "Thanks, Santana. I...Nobody has ever been proud of me before." That's very difficult for Santana to believe. "Except Lord Tubbington. He baked me a cake when I graduated from high school. I think he put pot in it though because I don't remember much else from that day..."

Santana grins. She wishes she'd met Brittany's wayward cat. "Well I don't have any weed on hand but if you give me an hour to find some then we can recreate that little party of yours."

"No," says Brittany. She runs her thumb over Santana's hand and rolls her head back so she's looking at the sky again. "I prefer it here with you anyway."

_Good_, Santana thinks. "Your plan is great, you know? A bit suicidal but it's really good. Somebody else should have thought of it first but we were all too busy sulking and competing with each other." Brittany gives her a look. "Okay that last part was just me and Fabray. Irrelevant. But anyway, you saw through all the bullshit and you came up with something simple but smart. I don't know how I've got this far without you. You're brilliant."

For a few moments Brittany doesn't say anything. Then - "Thanks, Santana."

Alarmed, Santana rolls onto her side and props up her head on her hand. "Are you _crying_?"

"No." Brittany sniffs. "I think it's raining..." It is _not_ raining. "On my face."

"Um..." Brittany rolls over so her and Santana's faces are only inches apart, then she rolls forward again and knocks Santana onto her back with a quiet _ooof_. She presses her face into Santana's neck and throws an arm over her waist. Unsure how to react, Santana pats her girlfriend's back with the hand that isn't trapped under Brittany's bodyweight. "I'm not sure what's going on here, Britt, but you're freaking me out. Did I say something wrong?"

"No," Brittany breathes against her neck. Santana relaxes. "I love you."

She inhales sharply. "Um..." At the same time as her heart swells with affection, panic causes her to freeze with terror.

"I know it seems really fast but it's how I feel," Brittany says. At least that's what Santana thinks she said; her voice is muffled against her neck. "I feel like we were supposed to meet, you know? I lived in that sleepy little town almost my whole life and it was great. The people were okay and I loved my parents and Lord Tubbington with all my heart...but I was never really content. I've never felt more at home than I have with you."

"I..." Santana's heart thumps against her chest. She can't remember the last time someone told her they loved her. Maybe one of her old boyfriends from back in high school. Certainly not her father. Does Brittany mean it? Can she mean it? They've only known each other just over a month. Oh no. She's been quiet for way too long. She needs to say something. _Say something_.

"Are you having a heart attack?" Brittany asks. Santana thinks she can feel a smile against her skin.

"No," she says, in a pitch much higher than she'd have liked.

Brittany chuckles and all signs of tears are gone. "It's okay. You don't have to say it back to me now. I just wanted you to know."

Santana releases a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding and lets her hand fall flat against Brittany's back and hugs her closer. It's not that she doesn't feel it...maybe...but Brittany just can't spring shit on her like this. She needs time to process. Even though she did already sort of say it a couple of days ago...but that so didn't count. She'd thought they were both about to die. You can't hold things said under threat of death against people, right?

A loud beeping sound breaks the silence. _Saved by the bell_. Brittany reaches into the pocket of Santana's jeans and pulls out her cell phone. "It's from Tina," she says, sticking her hand out in the air.

Santana sighs and takes the phone. So much for their peaceful afternoon. What the hell is wrong now?

"We need to talk," she reads aloud. _Wonderful_.

"No," Brittany groans, clinging to her tightly like a koala bear. "We're busy."

Santana types out a quick text back asking what the problem is and gets an almost instant reply. "We're at the hotel. Come as soon as you can," she reads. She looks up. "That didn't really answer my question."

"It must be important," says Brittany, raising her head reluctantly. "Right?"

"I guess so," says Santana with a bone-weary sigh. She supposes it was too much to ask for a nice afternoon alone with her girlfriend before the end of the world. "We'll go in a minute...or a few minutes...like thirty of them. We'll go in an hour."

Brittany smiles. "Sounds good." She lies back down atop Santana and closes her eyes.

* * *

On their walk to Tina and Mike's hotel room, Brittany links their fingers together and squeezes gently. Santana can tell that she's nervous. It hasn't taken her long to pick up on the fact that when a hunter wants to talk to you it's inevitably something terrible. They aren't the 'call to catch up on the gossip' sort of people.

Santana takes her phone out of her pocket to check the room number.

"I like staying in a hotel rather than a motel," says Brittany, swinging their joined hands back and forth. "There aren't as many stains on the blankets and the mattress isn't as lumpy."

"The staff seem less unhinged too," Santana adds. "Maybe we should start doing the lottery and when we win we can stay in hotels all the time?"

Brittany's eyes light up. "That's a great idea. Then we can buy a new friend for Hermione the Unicorn too. I think he's getting lonely."

"Yeah that was my thought too," says Santana, amused. Hermione had actually shared the bed with them last night. Santana would have been annoyed by it but she'd fallen asleep the second her head hit the pillow. Actually, she might have fallen asleep on the drive home and Brittany had carried her bridal-style to their room. Probably the first one though because that second one would have been totally humiliating and something never to be spoken about aloud...

They arrive at the Cohen-Changs' hotel room and Santana knocks on the door. "This had better be good," she mutters. Brittany doesn't hear her.

It's Mike who opens the door, with a bland smile and a concerned look in his eye. It sets Santana on edge in an instant. "Mike," she says in greeting.

"Hey, Santana. Brittany," he replies, stepping to one side and gesturing for the two woman to enter the room.

Brittany takes the lead and pulls Santana forward. With some dissatisfaction, Santana notes that this hotel room, while equally as beige and uninspiring, is bigger than her own. She'll complain to the manager when they're done here. Brittany deserves the best, damn it.

Tina is sat on the bed fiddling with her cell phone. By the angry mutterings about birds flapping around Santana guesses she's playing some kind of game. Losing spectacularly too, she doesn't doubt. It might actually be time to upgrade her own phone...hers has started freezing at inopportune moments. She should look into getting Brittany one too.

"Shit!" Tina sighs and throws the device on her bed as though it's deeply offended her.

"I thought being Asian meant you were supposed to be awesome at the electronics stuff," Santana says. Tina scowls. "Hi, by the way." She pulls the uncomfortable looking brown chair from underneath a small vanity table against the wall and offers it to Brittany. "I hope you have a good reason for dragging us here. We were having lunch."

For a moment, Tina looks a little guilty. Then her eyes find her husband's and at his genial smile she relaxes, though she seems completely unwilling to say something until he's sat beside her on the bed.

"We weren't sure whether to tell you," she begins cryptically. "You should sit down."

Though she doesn't know why, cold dread creeps down her spine. Suddenly, all the good her afternoon with Brittany has done for her mood evaporates. "I'm fine here."

Tina looks at Brittany for assistance. "Santana, you should-"

"Whatever you're trying to say, say it so we can get back to our day," Santana says. "I'm not in the mood for guessing games." Brittany tries to rise to her feet, presumably to offer up her chair, but Santana pushes down hard on her shoulder to keep her seated.

Tina pauses and glances at Mike. He remains silent but the expression on his face tells her that she's reacting to this in exactly the way he'd expected. She'd just very much like to know what _this_ is already so she can get back to her picnic.

"The hunt we've been on for the past few days..." Tina begins awkwardly. Mike reaches for her hand and squeezes it in encouragement.

"Dead vamps," Santana says, remembering their brief conversation with Puck the night before about it. "Yeah."

With a small noise of agreement, Tina's gaze drifts from Santana to the window. "They weren't just any old vampires."

Involuntarily, her hands clench into fists. Then when she doesn't say anything in reply, Brittany asks what Tina means by that. Santana has a feeling she already knows.

"Santana?" says Tina, as though asking her for permission to continue talking. She jerks her head in a sharp nod. "The vampires we hunted were the ones who killed your father."

Her mind goes completely blank.

* * *

Santana's face goes slack and she sways on her feet. This time when Brittany jumps up to usher her into the single chair, she offers no resistance. Brittany kneels down in front of her and rests her hand on Santana's knees.

"Santana? Honey?" she says quietly. She wishes Tina and Mike weren't still in the room, but they are; quietly watching them with unwanted, sympathetic eyes. "Just...nod your head so I know you're still in there." Santana raises her eyes to meet Brittany's. Good enough.

"Um..." Santana mumbles under her breath. She clears her throat and opens her mouth again but no sound comes out.

Guessing what her girlfriend wants to know, Brittany turns to the two hunters sat on the bed. "Are you sure?" she asks.

As Mike nods Tina says, "We're sure. Vampires are the kind of monster that like to toy with their prey before they kill them." Santana flinches. "They talk a lot. Tell you their whole plan, their conquests; they want you to be impressed. There was a small pack of them this time." At Brittany's questioning look she adds, "usually they travel in groups."

"And they just told you?" Brittany says. There is so much about hunting she just doesn't get yet. She thought super villains only liked to share their whole plan in action movies.

"There was one left," Tina says softly. "We'd killed the other two already. I think the loss of her pack had driven her mad and she was raving at the top of her voice about how another hunter had already attacked them a few years earlier and killed her other brothers and sisters. She said they'd killed him just like she'd kill us because they were survivors."

"That could be anyone," Brittany points out, but she knows she's clutching at straws.

"She talked about how he'd been one of the best hunters to have ever lived," Tina says.

"Still..."

"The vampire said his name."

Santana slumps in the chair and Brittany's head snaps back around to look at her. Her face has taken on a sickly pallor and her eyes are wide and confused. It makes her look about ten years younger. Brittany wishes she could figure out what Santana is thinking. Surely she should be happy that her father's death has been avenged, but she mostly seems shocked.

"We're sorry to tell you this today when there's so much already happening," says Tina in a voice so quiet that Brittany almost doesn't hear here. "We weren't sure if we'd get another chance."

There's an unintentional sinister edge Tina's words that makes Brittany shiver in fear. She's been doing her best today to pretend that tonight isn't happening so she can properly enjoy her day with Santana, but now she supposes that whole plan is out the window anyway. Just mentioning Santana's dad's name seems to send her spiralling so Brittany has no idea what long-term effects _this_ is going to have.

"Thank you," Santana says, startling Brittany a little. She'd been lost in her own thoughts. "I..." She clears her throat again. "Thanks for letting me know. I'll just..." She seems to be mumbling mostly to herself as she stands up from the chair, almost knocking Brittany to the ground, and makes a beeline to the door without a backwards glance at the hunters sat on the bed.

"Thanks, guys," Brittany says, jumping to her feet and rushing after Santana. She doesn't hear Tina or Mike respond but she assumes they did. She thinks out of all the hunters she's met now they are her favourites. "Hey, Santana! Wait up!"

Santana doesn't slow her pace so Brittany jogs down the hotel hallway to catch up with her.

* * *

Somehow, Santana ends up back at her hotel room. She hasn't bothered to check if Brittany is following her because she knows without a doubt that Brittany won't leave her to deal with this alone. If it hadn't been for the unnatural roaring sound in her ears distracting her from everything other than the thumping of her own heart she might have taken the time to enjoy the feeling of _knowing_ someone would be there for her without question. As it is, she can't think. Can barely breathe.

She stares at the closed door for a few seconds before she feels Brittany walk up behind her and then pull the key card from her back pocket. "Here, let me," she says, nudging Santana to one side so she can open their room.

Santana barges past her and moves to stand in the middle of the carpet, sucking in deep lungfuls of air and trying to calm the waves crashing against her mind. She should be happy, shouldn't she? The vampires that murdered her family are dead. All of them this time. This is what she wants...has wanted for a very long time.

"I can't stop, Brittany," she chokes out. With a frown, Brittany flips on the lights and steps over the strewn weapons littering their floor (this morning Santana had emptied all the bullets in her possession of gunpowder and replaced it with rock salt as a pre-emptive demon strike) and stands directly in front of Santana so their faces are only inches apart.

"Can't stop what?" she asks, in a deliberately calm voice.

For a moment, Santana is speechless. Even in this unflattering, fake lighting Brittany is the most beautiful person she's ever seen in her life. And here she is, standing right in front of her and _worrying_ for her. She can tell because her usually clear blue eyes have darkened just a little and there's a tiny line in between her eyebrows like she's scrunching her face together. Santana doesn't deserve this, but she wants it anyway.

"I can't stop..." she breathes. Now she's not even sure herself. All she knows is that Brittany is here being so perfect. Her head feels fuzzy. "I can't stop..."

Without thought or warning, she grabs Brittany by the front of her heart-patterned white shirt and pulls her in for a harsh kiss. Brittany squeaks in alarm as their teeth bump together painfully, but Santana ignores it. When she kisses Brittany, the white noise in her head stops. She feels like she can breathe again.

"I can't stop hunting," she says. Her mouth is pressed against Brittany's so she's not even sure her girlfriend understood.

Brittany tries to pull away but Santana keeps a firm hold on her shirt. "Nobody is asking you too," she points out. Santana rests their foreheads together. "Why would you think they were?"

Shrugging, Santana toys with one of the buttons on Brittany's shirt. "My mission is over. Avenge my mom and dad." She lets out a bitter laugh. "And I wasn't even the one to do it. How much does that suck? Dad would be so pissed at me if he knew. I always was such a disappointment."

Brittany hums lightly and rests her hands on Santana's hips. "Santana, you don't have to do anything you don't want to do. You want to be a hunter? We can be hunters. You don't have to be on a revenge fuelled quest to want to save people from the monsters under their beds. I'm not."

Instead of replying, Santana connects their lips together again. She needs the clarity it brings her. She needs those images of blood and vampires out of her mind. Brittany pushing her tongue into her mouth goes a long way to achieving that.

After what doesn't feel like long enough, Santana pulls away panting for breath. "Do you mean that?" she asks.

"Mean what?" Brittany says. She cocks her head to one side with a slightly dazed look on her flushed face.

"If I want to hunt then we can be hunters?" Santana says.

Brittany lets out a soft laugh. "Santana, how many times do we have to have this conversation? Yes. I'll go where you go. You're stuck with me. Forever."

Santana blinks back tears. Even as it feels like the world is falling apart around her ears, her heart is so full of...

"I love you too, Brittany," she says. Brittany's eyes widen.

"I kn-"

"Don't you dare _Han Solo_ me after I just bared my fucking soul to you."

Brittany grins slyly. "As you wish."

She wants to be annoyed but she can't find it in herself. "As _you_ wish," she mutters darkly. Brittany chuckles and pulls her in for a hug. For a second Santana resists, but then she relaxes and allows the warmth from Brittany's body to soak into her own. It's funny, she'd never seen the point of hugs before Brittany. Though she guesses she'd never seen the point in a lot of things before Brittany. Apparently these are the only two worthwhile sections her life can be divided into now; pre-Brittany and post-Brittany.

Honestly, Santana thinks she could just hug Brittany for the rest of her life and be happy...that is, until Brittany pulls back from her with a predatory gleam in her eye. Santana smirks and her hands once again find the buttons of Brittany's shirt. The noise in her head is already forgotten. She can deal with her _'feelings'_ later.

"Say it again," Brittany demands.

Santana chuckles fondly. "I love you."

Brittany presses her lips to Santana's neck. "Again."

"I love you."

* * *

They go for an early dinner because they're meeting the rest of the gang at William McKinley High School at half past ten and they still need time to prepare. Santana even puts on her nicest pair of black jeans for the occasion (and once again refuses to leave her leather jacket in the hotel, much to Brittany's amusement).

"Table for two?" a young waiter asks as soon as they walk through the door and into Breadstix. Santana nods and the boy leads them to a small table in the middle of the semi-busy restaurant.

Brittany bounces on the balls of her feet before sitting down opposite Santana. "This is awesome," she says. Santana makes a small noise of agreement and smiles. There are a few too many high school kids hanging around in cheerleading uniforms and letterman jackets for her taste, but it smells of garlic and tomatoes and there's what appears to be a vase of breadsticks already waiting for them so Santana can't complain.

The waiter takes their drink orders and then leaves them alone.

"So..." Santana begins, a bit awkwardly over the sound of knives and forks being scraped together on the tables around them. "Date number two."

"Are you paying?" Brittany asks. Santana nods. "Good, because I'm ordering shrimp."

Santana smiles, but it feels strained. It's getting too close to demon o clock for her to fully relax. In an effort to distract herself she plucks one of the breadsticks from the container and snaps off a piece to pop in her mouth.

"Sweet baby Jesus this is the best thing I've ever tasted," she moans appreciatively. Brittany looks up from her menu and raises an eyebrow. "Seriously, Britt, you have to try this."

With a chuckle, Brittany takes her own breadstick and bites of the end. "Yep. That's a breadstick," she says with a nod of her head. "It tastes like breadstick."

Santana gapes. "You're not serious? You _don't_ think that's heaven in baton form?"

"Sorry, Santana," says Brittany apologetically, but Santana can see the amused twinkle in her eye. "I'm going to stick to the shrimp."

Santana huffs. "Fine. Mine then." She pulls the container towards her and wraps an arm around it protectively. Obviously, it's just in time for their waiter to return with their bottle of wine. "What are you looking at, foetus face?" Santana snaps when he glances her way. He almost drops their wine glasses on the table in fright.

"Be nice," Brittany says, nudging her ankle under the table with her foot.

"Um..." the waiter stutters. "Would you like to order or do you need another couple of minutes?"

Brittany orders for both of them. Santana shouldn't like that; kind of does though. "We can eat the spaghetti like Lady and the Tramp," Brittany informs her when their waiter has gone. Santana has never seen that movie so she just nods and takes another bite of her breadstick. She's sure she'll find out what Brittany means later on.

They chat for a few minutes about the other customers in the restaurant. Brittany likes to guess what people are like just by looking at them. It's not something Santana has ever been interested in; if anything she likes to stay as far away from _normals_ as possible, but she plays along for Brittany's sake and tries not to be offended when Brittany laughs at her for suggesting that a man wearing a bolo tie works in a gun manufacturers.

Halfway through their conversation about the three cheerleaders (whom, through eavesdropping, they have learned are called 'Cheerios') sat two tables across from them being the next generation of Powerpuff Girls, Brittany's trails off and her gaze drifts to behind Santana. On edge in an instant, Santana reaches for the gun tucked down the back of her jeans.

"Hey, guys!"

She suppresses a groan and puts her hands back on the table.

"Hey," Brittany replies, raising a hand in a little wave. Santana takes a large gulp of dark wine. "What are you doing here?"

"Finn, Kurt and I decided to enjoy a dinner together before our evening activities," Rachel tells them with an unnaturally bright smile. It's certainly a change from yesterday's mood and honestly a bit unseemly considering what their 'evening activities' are going to include.

"Finn asked her out," Kurt mutters in Santana's ear, answering her unasked question as he comes to stand beside her chair. She rolls her eyes. Gross. Unfortunately, this little slice of information from Kurt distracts her from the true danger that's happening right in front of her.

"Yeah," says Finn, with that goofy smile of his. "That's a great idea. We should all sit together!"

"Okay," Brittany agrees before Santana can answer with an emphatic _no_.

"Oh, won't that be lovely," she says through gritted teeth. Kurt smirks at her and offers a hand to pull her up from her chair.

"A table for five please," Rachel trills to a passing-by mousy looking waitress. The girl almost drops an armful of plates in surprise.

"Make that seven," says another voice. _Oh good_, Santana thinks_. Puck and Quinn are here too_. She looks over to Brittany, who looks a little disappointed that their date has been interrupted (again) but mostly amused by the whole situation. Or maybe amused at Santana's obvious annoyance.

"I don't think we cater to parties of-"

"Push some tables together," says Puck, pointing to an empty corner of the restaurant. The waitress looks dubious but nods and heads off to find her manager. "They'll do it for us," Puck says with confidence. "Nobody can resist the Puck-a-saurus." Quinn rolls her eyes and Santana notices they're slightly red-rimmed. Come to think of it, Puck is looking a little pale too. She wonders what they've been talking about. In fact she wonders why they are together at all; not enough to ask them about it though.

Brittany navigates around Rachel and Finn to stand beside her and offers her an apologetic smile, which is ridiculous because the rabble showing up was hardly her fault. "So much for our second date," she says quietly. "Maybe next time we'll make it all the way to the end without a calamity to interrupt it."

"Yeah," Santana replies without mirth, "I won't hold my breath."

"Hey, guys!"

"Oh for fucks sake," Santana says loudly, earning herself a few looks of outrage from nearby families with children. She turns around to glare at Sam. "What are you even doing here?"

"Um..." Sam looks around, startled by the outburst. "Holly told me this was the best place in the area to get a bite to eat. Why are you all together? Without me. Are you planning my birthday party or something?"

There's now eight of them crammed together between tables of patrons staring at them angrily for disrupting their meal with rowdiness and general obstruction. Santana can hardly blame them for that but she glares back anyway until most of them look away.

The waitress comes back with a scared look on her youthful face. "There's more of you," she states with disbelief. Apparently in Lima people must only travel in very small groups or families because the sight of more than four people together is sending the staff into something of a tizzy.

"You might as well get us a table for ten," Santana snaps. "It's only a matter of time before Asian-times-two arrive." Brittany lays a calming hand on Santana's arm.

"Yes, ma'am," she says, and scurries away.

By the time the group are seated (or in Santana and Brittany's case, re-seated) on a makeshift square table, Tina and Mike have indeed arrived and Santana has eaten a full vase of breadsticks in addition to having swiped some from another table. Then much to Santana's chagrin, their waitress takes it upon herself to delay their meals from arriving to coincide with the rest of their party's. It's all a total disaster as far as Santana is concerned.

"No me gusta!" she shouts after the terrified girl (they have learned her name is Marley) as she runs away from their table to bring Brittany's shrimp. "And bring me some more breadsticks!"

"Overreaction much?" Kurt says from the other side of Brittany.

"Do you want to be on my list too, Porcelain?" Santana says. Kurt holds up his palms in surrender.

"Touchy tonight, I see," Kurt observes quietly to Brittany. Brittany just smiles and rests her hand on Santana's thigh under the table. So what if she is 'touchy'? She did just find out that father's murder has been avenged without her even being present, so really she has a right to be a little on edge. So rather than let herself be pulled into a round of insults she let's her mind drift to other things...better things...like how she and Brittany had spent their afternoon after they returned to their hotel room. Mmm. That had been good.

"How's your day been?" Sam asks, distracting her. He's sat on her other side so she turns her head to face him. "You seem happy. Well...annoyed that we're all here but happy too. We interrupted something, didn't we? It's a classic romcom trope."

Santana shrugs. "What's not to be happy about? I love an inevitable but slow march to my death." Sam elbows her and then jerks his head back in an attempt to flick back some of the blonde hair from his face. "What do you want me to say, Trouty Mouth?"

"How's it going with Brittany?" he asks, keeping his voice low so as not to catch the attention of Quinn, who is currently telling Finn across the table about why he's so wrong about so many things. For once, Santana happens to agree with her assessment of the situation.

For a moment, Santana doesn't want to answer, but then she grins and that kind of says it all anyway. Sam chuckles. "That good, huh?" Santana nods. "Well I'm happy for you."

"Thanks," Santana says stiffly. She thinks she's getting better at these types of personal exchanges now, but she still doesn't feel comfortable with it unless it's Brittany she's talking to. Not that it matters. She's done just fine without all this touchy feely crap up until now.

"I don't think she likes me very much though," Sam continues, his voice still low.

Santana frowns. "What do you mean? Of course she does. Brittany likes everybody."

"Look behind you," he says.

Confused, Santana turns her head to look at Brittany. She's staring at them both. Well, scowling might be a more accurate description. Coupled with the aggressive way she's snapping the breadstick in her hand into tiny pieces and discarding them on the floor behind her, she looks a bit frightening. When Brittany realises Santana is looking back at her, she immediately drops the breadstick and smiles sweetly.

Santana raises an eyebrow. "You okay, Britt-Britt?"

"Yeah," says Brittany. She looks surprised that Santana would think otherwise. "Why do you ask?"

"Oh...no reason..." Santana replies.

"See what I mean," Sam whispers in her ear, causing Brittany to frown once more. Santana ignores him, however, as a small army of wait staff arrive with their food and another three bottles of wine. Dimly, Santana registers Rachel complaining that they shouldn't be drinking at a time like this and is that quinoa salad definitely vegan? Thankfully, a resounding chorus of 'shut up, Berry' from around the table shuts down this line of questioning before Rachel can really start to hash out the nutritional values different lettuces with Marley.

A plate of spaghetti and meatballs is placed down in front of Santana and she breathes it in. Might as well enjoy it as it could well be her last meal.

"We'll have to be Lady and the Tramp some other time," says Brittany with a pout and glance around their table. Santana smiles at the adorableness of it.

"I guess so," she agrees. She's glad that Brittany is as disappointed with this turn of events as she is, petty as that might be. She wants Brittany to want to be with just her. Santana almost snorts over how childish she's being. Oh well.

Just as Santana is about to start on her pasta, Puck taps his wine glass with a spoon and everyone stops what they're doing to look at him.

"Before we dig into our meal, I propose a toast," he says, raising his glass of wine in front of him. His voice is just a bit gruffer than it usually is and his eyes never seem to stray far from Quinn. "To our friends who haven't made it this far and the people we've lost."

To say Santana is surprised at Puck's display of sentimentality is an understatement, but she picks up her own glass and holds it up to Puck's and everyone else follows suit.

"To Artie and Rory," says Finn.

"And Karofsky," Santana says.

"And Sugar," Brittany adds.

"And the Roadhouse." Rachel is holding up a cup of water. "A place that people could call home."

When nobody adds anything else, the group clink their glasses together.

"May the odds be ever in our favour," Sam says.

"Oh for God's sake. You just had to go and ruin it, didn't you?" Santana says as she elbows him in the ribs. He grunts and there's a small titter of laughter. The sombre mood is temporarily broken.

It's then that Santana realises that this is almost certainly the last time they'll all be together.

* * *

**Author's Note(s): **Only two and a half weeks this time. Not bad, right? Two more chapters left, guys, just to warn you. The next one is probably going to be quite short. Thanks for reading :-)


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